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tJUi 


THE 


CONFEDEEATE CHIEFTAINS: 

» 


A TALE 


OF 

3nsl) UcbcUion of 1G41. 



MRS. J.^'SADLIER, " 

AUTHOR OF “NEW LIGHTS,” “ BLAKES AND FLANAGANS,” “WILLY BUBAS,^ 
“BED HAND OF ULSTER,” ETC. 


Rebellion ! foul, dishonoring word, 

"Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain’d 
The holiest cause that tongue or sword 
Of mortal, ever lost or gain’d. 

IIow many a spirit born to bless, 

Hath sunk beneath its withering name; 

Whom but a day’s, an hour’s success, 

Had wafted to eternal fame ! 

Moore’s LaUa Bookh. 


NEW YORK; 

D. «&; J. SADLIER & CO., 81 BARCLAY STREET; 

BOSTON:— 128 FEDERAL STREET; 

MONTREAL*. — COB. OF NQTRE DAME & ST. FRANCIS XAVIER STREETS. 

1868. 




•f 

C , 




I 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the yea 1860, by 
D. & J. SxiDLIEE & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for th® 
Southern District of New York. 




PREFACE 



It is a common saying, even amongst Irish people, that Irish 
liistory is about the driest history known to us. There may be 
some trutli in the remark, for the fact is that Ireland of all coun- 
tries, has never yet been fairly represented on the page of history. 
In this she has had reason to complain, for although her sons have 
done much for the historic fame of other countries, they have, for 
the most part, wholly neglected that of their own. If Goldsmith 
had but done for Ireland what he did for Erigland, then the per- 
sonages of Ireland’s eventful drama would be as familiarly known 
as are those of English history, — our O’Keils and O’Donnels 
would bear comparison with the Russel^ and the Sidneys, and the 
llampdens, — our Desmonds, and Geraldines, and Butlers would 
stand on a level with the Warwicks, the Percys, and the Douglases 
of British story, and Brian Boromhe and Art McMurrough would 
shine out from the darkness of their times with as true a lustre 
as that which gilds the names of the English Alfred and the 
Scottish Bruce. The sons and daughters of Ireland in foreign 
countries would not then have to ask : “ Who on earth is Owen 
Roe ? — who is Hugh O’Heil ? — who is Oliver Plunket ? — What in 
the world did they do that people keep talking so about them ?” 
Oh ! what wonder is it that such ignorance prevails, such deplo- 
rable ignorance, with regard to the history of Ireland ? What 
elfort has ever been made to invest it with charms for the rising 
generation to whom history is of itself a dry study ? 

We of the Irish race owe a debt to our departed worthies which 
we cannot too soon set about paying. Their efforts to redeem 
the land of their love were unhappily for the most part unsuc- 
cessful, but the fault was not theirs — they were great and noble 
in their generation — ^they did great things for Ireland — they have 
left us their fame as a legacy — shall we not avail ourselves of it 
■ to ennoble our country and give her that place amongst the na- 
tions to which the glory of her sons entitles her ? No country 
under heaven has had more heroic deeds done for her — no- coun- 
try holds a higher place in the martyrology of nations (so to 
speak) — no history more chequered than hers, or marked by 
more striking vicissitudes, more stirring events, deeper shadows 
or more radiant lights. How then is it so little known, and when 
partially known so little cared for ? Precisely because the romance 


4 


PREFACE. 


of our history is left in the background, — the facts, even when 
told over, are presented to the reader in the driest and least at- 
tractive manner possible. What young person will think of read- 
ing the Four Masters, MoGeogegan, Lanigan, Keating, or O’Hal- 
loran ? - The very sight of those ponderous volumes would deter 
most people from opening them in search of “ Irish story,” and, 
even though they did summon courage to “ look in,” the formid- 
able array of long (and apparently) unpronouneable Milesian 
names would be more than enough to damp their curiosity and 
give them a distaste for further research.* ^ 

The annals of Ireland have been not inaptly likened to a 
skeleton ; a heap of dry bones, which require the prophet’s breath 
to infuse life into them, and clothe them with the vesture of 
humanity. To follow up the comparison — as the student of 
anatomy takes, bone by bone, and joint by joint, the wonderful 
piece of mechanism w'hich forms our body, in order to arrive at 
a perfect knowledge of the whole, so would I endeavor to dissect 
the corpus of Irish history, and presenting it piece by piece to 
the reader, give a knowledge of each in detail. This is what 
I have done in the work now placed before the reader. I 
have taken the Religious War — commonly called the Great 
Rebellion — which convulsed Ireland from 1641 to 1662, and 
clothed the dry bones of the principal actors on (both sides 
with the flesh of their mortality, and breathed into them the 
breath of life, so that they might speak and tell their own 
story to all who are disposed to listen. I have woven a thread 
of fiction — a slender thread, too — through the stirring events of 
that “hero-age,” just enough to keep the dramatis personae 
together. In adhering so faithfully to the historical narrative, I 
may have rendered the book less interesting to those who love 
mystery and crave excitement, but it was not to pander to 
morbid and unhealthy appetites that I undertook a work requir- 
ing so much patient research ; nor is it for the mere novel reader 
that I write now or at any other time. To those who love Ireland 
and can appreciate her fidelity to her ancient faith, the sufferings 
she has endured, and the heroic efforts which her children have 
made in times past to free her from civil and religious bondage, I 
make no apology for the undue proportion of 4iistorical matter in 
this story, they will value it all the more for being “ an ower true 
tale.” 

* The Popular History of Ireland now appearing from the pen of our (lis- 
tinguished countryman T. D. Mc&ee, bids fair to supply this want. 




i - 'r1 f » 


THE 

CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Is Iran’s pride, then, gone for ever, 

Quenched with the flame in Mithra’s caves 7 — 

No — she has sons that never — never — 

■Will stoop to be the Moslem’s slaves, 

While heaven has light, or earth has graves.” 

Moore’s Lalla Rookh. 

The long dreary reigns of Elizabeth and James, her successor, 
had passed over bleeding, suffering Ireland like a hideous dream, 
and the persecuted Catholics of that country hailed the accession 
of Charles I. to the throne of his father, as the dawn of a day 
that was to bring them peace and rest. For the king spoke them 
fair and made many soothing promises, and they, in their exu- 
berant loyalty, and in the gush of newly-awakened hope, be- 
lieved every word he said, nor dreamed that the faithlessness of 
all his race had descended upon this young prince, whose preco- 
cious gravity of demeanor and affected generosity of sentiment were 
alike calculated to impose oh the credulous and unsuspecting. 
But the king wanted money, as the Stuart princes always did, and 
who so ready as the Irish Catholics to supply it, hoping thereby 
to secure the monarch’s favor, and to obtain from his gratitude 
at least, if not his justice, those concessions which might raise 


6 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


them nearer the level of the other subjects of the realm. Plun- 
dered and dispossessed of their estates by the wholesale confisca- 
tions of the previous reigns, it is matter of astonishment to us at 
this day that anything was left them to give. Undoubtedly the 
native chieftains were many of them landless men, stripped of 
their immense possessions by the crying injustice of English sov- 
ereigns and their willing agents, the Lords Deputies of Ireland. 
But the Catholics of the Pale were not so bankrupt in this world’s 
goods — they being of English descent had been somewhat more 
leniently dealt with, and the fairest and richest portion of the 
island was still in their hands. They, then, were better able to 
advance money, and it is probable the gi’eater portion of the 
subsidies came from them — who but they had it to give '? How- 
ever it was, no less a sum than one hundred and twenty thou- 
sand pounds — an enormous sum in that age — was sent over by 
the Catholics of Ireland as a peace-offering to the king. The 
money once received, Charles thought no more of the promised 
“ gi-aces,” and the work of persecution and spoliation went on in 
Ireland with imdiminished violence, under the truculent and re- 
morseless Strafford, the devoted henchman of the faithless king. 
The Catholics, amazed and disappointed, petitioned and remon- 
strated — reminded the king of the gracious promises which had 
beguiled them into hope, and of the solenm contract into which 
he had entered with them, but Charles gave them no sort of satis- 
faction, and his minister in Ireland silenced their just complaints 
with insult and mockery, and proceeded, with that diabolical 
ingenuity which was characteristic of the man, to invent new 
schemes of robbery for the benefit of his unworthy master. The 
Commission of Defective Titles was appointed for the modest and 
laudable purpose of dispossessing the Chieftains of Connaught of 
their remaining lands and hereditaments — the pretence w'as to 
examine into the titles of all the estates of the Province, but the 
examination was only a legal farce. The juries were in every 
instance coerced by the tyrant Strafford into finding for the king. 
In fact, no alternative was left them. If they declared in favor 
of the o-WTiers of the property, their own goods w'ere confiscated, 
and their persons dragged to Dublin to undergo the tortures of 
the hell-devised Star Chamber, so that no alternative w'as left 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


7 


them but to find the existing title Defective, and by their verdict 
to turn an ancient family out of its possessions, to swell the ranks 
of the landless and beggared men who formed the great bulk of 
the native gentry. 

But the work of iniquity did not prosper with either Charles 
Stuart or factotum, Strafford. The Irish nation was bound hand 
and foot, as they thought, and the remaining inheritance of its loyal 
and long-suffering sons transferred in cash to the coffers of the 
English king, but the all-seeing eye of a just God was on them 
and their deeds of darkness were registered above. Even when 
their power seemed at the highest, their doom was recorded, and 
the crash of their fall resounded through the civilized world. 
The same party whom the king, in his selfish blindness, permitted 
to harry and distress his faithful subjects in Ireland, in England 
and in Scotland, rose up in arms against him, and by a signal 
stroke of retributive justice Strafford first, and himself at a later 
period, suffered death at the hands of the ruthless fanatics who 
were armed with power to smite them. When the king’s affairs 
became desperate, his enemies many and powerful, and his friends 
few, he was forced to recall Strafford from Ireland, hoping that 
his tried fidelity, indomitable courage, and known ability, might 
help to extricate him from the toils in which his own duplicity 
had ensnared him. Vain and short-sighted calculations! The 
measure of Strafford’s iniquity wa's full, and the hands which had 
exercised such cruelties on the long-enduring Irish Catholics 
were soon manacled by the fierce Puritans and rendered power- 
less for evil or for good. His subsequent fate is well known to 
all readers of history, but before his haughty neck was laid on 
the block, the king his master replaced him in Ireland by two joint 
governors named Lords Justices (strange perversion of terms!). 
Of all the Popery-hating, plunder-loving rulers ever sent by the 
paternal government of England to soothe the woes and suffer- 
ings of Catholic Ireland, these two men. Sir William Parsons and 
Sir John Borlase, stand out in the light of history as amongst the 
most odious robbers and persecutors. Even the bold, blustering, 
barefaced villany of the royalist Strafford was better than the 
smooth, hypocritical, all-grasping, and no less ferocious dealings 
of theso truculent agents of the Covenanting rebels, styled by 


8 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


themselves and others the Parliament of England. It was a 
dismal day for poor bleeding, prostrate Ireland, when this pair of 
associates were sworn in as Lords Justices, the actual Lord Lieu- 
tenant, the Earl of Leicester, being then and long after resident 
in England. 

Amongst other atrocities of those penal days in Ireland was 
the famous Court of Wards, established some years before with 
the avowed object of protecting all heirs and heiresses, but in 
reality for the double purpose of depriving them not only of their 
patrimony, but of what was far more important, their faith, for, 
be it known to the reader, that Catholic wards were the special 
care of this precious Court. That such was the case Ireland 
knew to her cost, for the working of this institution was more 
fatal to her cherished faith than all the open persecution of the 
times. Many of the descendants of her noblest and most ancient 
families were in this Wjay snatched from the fold of truth, and 
brought up in rancorous hatred of that religion for which their 
fathers suffered and died. Of this number was the famous James 
Butler, Earl of Ormond, the representative of one of the oldest 
Anglo-Irish houses of the Pale, who, being an orphan from his 
childhood, was of course laid hold of by the Court of Wards, 
taken at nine years old from a Catholic school near London, trans- 
ferred to the care of the Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury, 
and “ trained up in the way” the English government “ would 
have him go,” till he became the able and unscrupulous minister 
of the crown, and one of the most dangerous — because insidious 
— enemies the Catholics of Ireland ever had. But worse than 
Ormond — worse than the fiercest blood-hounds of the Parliament, 
was another of these royal wards, viz., Murrough O’Brien, Earl 
of Inchiquin, a man who outdid all his colleagues — the fanatical 
persecutors of the Catholics — with the single exception of the 
monster Sir Charles Coote — in implacable enmity towards the 
religion of his fathers. Even Coote himself did not exceed this 
degenerate descendant of the great O’Briens in savage cruelty 
towards the unhappy professors of the proscribed faith, when 
they fell into his hands. 

Truly was Catholic Ireland then passing through the sea of 
affliction, enveloped in the darkest gloom of the penal days. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


9 


Her religion proscribed by law, its professors styled recusants^ 
exposed with the poor remains of their possessions to the tender 
mercies of such men as we have been describing, at the head of 
infuriate bands of English soldiery. 

Prostrate and helpless the whole country seemed to lie before 

them, terrified into passive obedience, with no sign or symptom oi 
life save the convulsive thrill of agony which ever and anon 
passed through the tortured frame when some honored head was 
smitten by the oppressor’s sword, or some fresh outrage was per- 
petrated on the general body. But was this apathy real or only 
apparent 1 — was there not, in all the land, one patriot soul to con- 
ceive a thought of freedom 1 — ^where were the sons of those mar- 
tyred chiefs who had lost fortune, and lands, and life itself for con- 
science’ sake 1 — where the O’Neills and O’Donnells, were there nono 
to inherit their wrongs ? — where the O’Moores of Leix who in pre- 
ceding reigns had lost every foot of their princely possessions, and 
were driven forth as wanderers on the earth 7 — ^where the 
O’Byrnes of Wicklow whose noble spirit of independence, and un- 
disguised hatred of the foreign foe,* had drawn down on them the 
fiercest vengeance of tyrannic rulers for ages past, so that they 
were made to endure every evil that malice could invent or power 
execute 7 — ^were they all dead, or slept they in their chains, that no 
murmer of complaint was heard, nor threat of vengeance 7 Ah 
the time for complaints had passed away — they were tried all too 
long, and had been found only to excite ridicule and contempt. 
Threats and menaces would have seemed nothing short of mad- 
ness, for all power was in the hands of the pitiless enemy, and no 
hope of redress or liberation could quicken the pulse or warm the 
heart of a nation in which life was almost extinct. No sound, 

then, was heard from the despised masses of “ the mere Irish” to 
indicate either hope or fear — a sullen silence reigned in all the 
Catholic provinces — the native tribes and the descendants of the 
Norman settlers were alike sunk in stolid hopelessness, to judge 
from what was visible on the surface. What was passing in the 

* The daring exploits of the famous Wicklow Chief Feagh McHugh 
O’Byrno “and his hard-riding men” only a generation or so before, 
.are already celebrated in song and story— if not in history. 

1 * 


' 10 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

secret depths, amongst those slumbering masses, it is for us now 
to show. 

Somewhere about the middle of September, in the memorable 
year of 1641 , a party of gentlemen were assembled around a fes- 
tive board in the back parlor of a house in Bridge street, Dublin. 
The room was comfortably but plainly furnished, and the black 
oak table with its pewter plates and dishes and earthen drinking- 
cups denoted but moderate means on the part of the entertainer, 
yet there wa^ that about him which savored of a different order of 
life, and though all his guests — they were four or five in number 
— ^were not, in manner at least, of the same high polish as him- 
self, they were all evidently of a class entitled, if not accustomed, 
to costlier fare and more humble service than that which fell to 
their lot on the present occasion. They were all habited alike in 
the gay and not ungraceful costume of the native Irish chieftains, 
though it required not truis or cochal, to prove that such they 
were. Their ages were different, though all might be called 
young, for the oldest could not have seen forty, while the junior 
of the party was still in the summer of life. As they quaff their 
Spanish wine and idly while away in cheerful chit-chat the half- 
hour after the viands were removed, let us tell the reader in confi- 
dence who they were. The handsome and high-bred host, with 
his long and silken hair so smoothly parted on his high white 
forehead and falling on either side in the most exquisite of cooluns, 
is no other than Roger O’Moore, the disinherited heir o| the do- 
mains of Leix, although none might trace on his frank, engaging 
countenance even the faintest shadow of the stormy passions 
which wrongs like his are apt to foster in the soul. Near him 
on the right sat a younger man of prepossessing appearance, his 
manners marked by that careless ease which indicates the con- 
sciousness of rank, together with a certain assumption of super- 
iority which might, or might not, give offence according to the 
dispositions of the company. This was Connor Maguire, Lord 
Enniskillen, more commonly known then, as since, by the name 
of Lord Maguire. Next to him sat a personage of more mature 
years, whose face and form were cast in a rougher mould, while 
his bushy whiskers and thick short hair of sandy hue gave an 
air of fierceness to the contour of his head that did not belong to 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


11 


his broad, honest face, which was more indicative of good-nature 
than anything else. This was Tirlogh O’Neill, brother of the 
famous Sir Phelim, and as true a clansman as ever trod Tyrone 
heather. On the opposite side of the table were two other gen- 
tlemen, both in the prime of life, one of whom it was easy to dis- 
tinguish as O’Reilly of Cavan, for his was the tall, thin, yet sin- 
ewy frame, the fair and rather delicate features, and the calm dig- 
nity of mien which ever characterized that far-descended line of 
chieftains. The other gentleman was a promising scion of the 
noble house of McMahon of Monaghan, and he, too, carried about 
him the most prominent marks of his race — their frank sincerity, 
their earnestness of purpose, and a shrewdness which eminently 
fitted them for elbowing their w'ay through life. 

The distinctive peculiarities of each were more or less subdued 
on the present occasion, and the wine appeared to circulate more 
slowly than might be expected, notwithstanding the frequent 
challenges of the host. 

“ Why, gentlemen,” said O’Moore at length with sudden viva- 
city, “ I marvel much at your disregard of wine which I have 
taken some pains to provide of such quality as I thought likely 
to make you merry at heart. How is it 1 — are ye thinking to 
conform to Puritan ways of godliness V’ 

“ Nay, my very good friend,” made answer Lord Maguire, “ if 
it be with others of your guests as it is with me, their thoughts 
are too big for much speech.” 

O’Moore’s assumed vivacity suddenly vanished, but a glow of 
satisfaction overspread his features. “ You have been thinking, 
then, friends and noble gentlemen, of the matter concerning 
which I spoke to you severally as occasion offered heretofore. 
I trust I see you all in the same mind, resolved to lend what 
power in you lies to the relief and comfort of our suffering 
country.” 

The guests exchanged glances, and a certain embarrassment 
was visible amongst them. Maguire was the first to break 
silence. He assured O’Moore that no one felt more keenly than 
himself the galling yoke of the oppressor, “ but,” said he, “ it 
would be worse than useless for us to make any show of resist* 
ance at the present time, seeing that w^e have neither arms, 


12 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


ammunition, money, nor anything whatsoever to fit an army for 
the field.” 

“ It is even so,” said McMahon bitterly ; “ between confisca- 
tions, fines and subsidies, and what not, they have left us bare as 
whipping-posts. We have nothing to start us in the trade of war 
— all is in their hands !” 

“ Nothing !” cried O’Neill with ill-concealed impatience ; “ call 
you nothing, Costelloe McMahon, the strong arms and stout 
hearts who follow the standards of our chiefs I Why, man, we 
could raise an army in a month — ay ! and shorter time — fit to 
sweep the cut-throat Englishers into the sea !” 

“ Spoken like a true son of the Hy-Nial !” said O’Moore, reaching 
across Lord Maguire to grasp the rough hand wherewith Tirlogh 
had made the table quiver to the tune of his fiery speech. 

“ All well so far as it goes,” observed Maguire drily, his dignity 
being somewhat hurt by his host’s momentary forgetfulness of 
the resi)ect due to his person ; “ men we have in great plenty, but 
who will put arms in their hands, and clothes on their backs, 
and find them wherewithal to live while they fight the country’s 
battles 1 Would ye send them into the field as droves of sheep 
without means of offence or defence, to be butchered at will by 
the fanatic soldiers of the English Parliament V* 

“ No need of that,” replied O’Neill with increasing warmth ; 
“ there be iron and wood enough, for spiall purchase, to make 
most excellent pikes, which will serve, I opine, till better 
weapons come within reach, and I tell you, Connor Maguire,” he 
added significantly, “ the smiths of Tyrone have not been idle 
this time back, and moreover I can answer for one chieftain at 
least ” 

“ Ay ! and who may that be T’ 

“ Phelim O’Neill !” said the haughty clansman with stern 
emphasis, and a contemptuous glance at his neighbor ; “ he at 
least is ready when his country calls him to the rescue — he will 
offer no excuses — I tell you that, Koger O’Moore! — ^you may 
reckon on my brother whensoever and howsoever you need his 
aid in this matter.” 

Had Maguire been as hot-blooded as O’Neill it might have 
given their host some trouble to prevent a quarrel, but happily 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


13 


the chieftain of Fermanagh was not of such choleric tempera- 
ment, and with a somewhat higher degree of polish had a certain 
amount of caution which enabled him to control his feelings when 
he deemed it expedient. 

The other guests were visibly alarmed for the effect of O’Neill’s 
taunt, and O’Moore was about to interpose with his most winning 
smile, but Maguire set them all at rest by saying in a good hu- 
mored way : 

“ I call ye all to witness that Tirlogh here took me up over 
quickly. If I did express some doubts concerning our present 
state of readiness, I had no thoughts of dallying behind when 
others were of a mind to go forward. Right glad am I to hear 
that my good friend of Tyi--owen is pushing matters on. Heaven 
knows there be no time for delay — but for me I do hope to see 
some other thing besides pikes in the hands of our men when 
they come to blows with an enemy so well armed and otherwise 
fitted out for war.” 

“ You are in the right, my good lord,” said O’Moore, glancing 
with evident relief at the restored good humor visible on Tir- 
logh’s broad face ; “ much caution is needful in a matter of so 
great import, but the provision of all things requisite for the 
maintenance of warfare has been well considered before now. 
There be those of our friends beyond seas in divers countries, as 
ye all know, who have much skill in these matters, and they 
wait but the signal to be with us with good store of all things 
needful which, through God’s mercy and the royal charity of 
Catholic princes, they have in speedy expectation.” 

“ Lamh dearg ahoo /” shouted he of Tyr-owen, jumping to his 
feet with a suddenness that made the others start, “ I knew it, 
Rory ! — I knew they wouldn’t fail us !” 

“ It is even so, Tirlogh,” replied his host smiling at the other’s 
capricole, “ the Red Hand is working for us even now— not only 
amongst the hills of Tyr-owen, but in the courts of Europe and 
in the councils of kings.” 

“ Tyrone* will be a host in himself,” observed O’Rielly, who had 

* The Tyrone hero alluded to was the son of the great Hugh O’Neill. 
Ho was the friend and counsellor of Roger O’Moore in his bold 


14 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


not as yet taken part in the conversation ; “ his father’s great 
deeds are in all men’s minds, and his name will be enough of 
itself to stir up the northern clans.” 

“ Owen PtOE is worth a dozen of him !” said the rough-spoken 
Tirlogh ; “ fighting is no novelty to Owen — he’s well used to it, 
and can teach us all we want to know ! — Lanih dearg aboo ! — - 
there’s not a man of the O’Neills but will follow Owen Iloe !” 

“You forget Sir Phelim, Tirlogh!” said Costelloe McMahon 
with a meaning smile ; “ he has been so long now the first man in 
Tyr-owen that I fear me much he will not take bidding even from 
the hero of Arras or the belted Earl himself!” 

“ Oil ! that's another story,” said O’Neill somewhat more coolly ; 

“ tliore’s no need for him to take bidding — they can pull together 
— and they will too, please God on high !” 

“ Never was more need,” said O’Moore, fixing his thoughtful 
eye on each of his guests in turn, “ there be news now to set us 
on if we ever mean to do anything !” 

Maguire’s anxious interrogatory was seconded by the startled 
look of the others. “ What worse news can there be than those 
which daily come to our ears 1 Thank Heaven ! matters cannot 
be worse with us than they are !” 

“ They can be worse, my lord, and they will, if we do not 
something before long. Have ye heard of this letter lately 
intercepted V' 

“ What letter V’ 

“ Why, one from Scotland to a planter in the north, one Free- 
man by name, apprising him that the Scotch covenanting army 
is coming over anon in full strength to massacre every Papist in 
this unhappy country.” 

“ It is true, then, what Parsons said at the banquet,”* said 
Maguire with a quivering lip, “ not content with taking all our 
substance, they must needs take our lives, too. Truly they treat 
us as wolves ” 

attempt to free the country. Their connection war formed abroad, 
O’Neill being in exile. 

* A little before this Sir Wm. Parsons had declared at a pul lie en- 
tertainment that the Irish Papists should and would be exterminated. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


15 


“ Yet we submit as lambs to their bloody oppression,” said 
O’Moore eagerly; “let us but turn on them with the strength 
tliat God gave us, and you shall see them wither as grass before 
our righteous anger ! — make but a gallant show — rise in union 
and in strength — stand before them as men resolved — and they 
will not dare to smite ye ! The first news of our rising will bring 
over supplies of all Ave want from the friendly courts of Europe 
— our exiled countrymen will rush to aid us Avith the skill they 
have gained in foreign Avars, and before many months go by, if 
we but keep together as Ave ought, we may hunt from our shores 
the ferocious beasts Avho fatten on our spoils and on our blood, 
stand as free men on the soil that is ours by right, and Avorship 
God after the manner of our fathers in the way Ave deem safe for 
our soul’s weal ! — what say ye, friends and gentlemen ? Chief- 
tains of the north ! shall Ave still lie motionless under the enemy’s 
armed heel, and suffer him to SAveep our race from the face of 
God’s earth without striking even one blow for freedom or re- 
venge '? Which one of us is there Avhose father they have not 
robbed — ay, and murdered /” — his deep, impassioned voice sank 
to a thrilling whisper as he spoke the hideous Avord, and whether 
by accident or design he turned his eloquent eyes full on McMa- 
hon, Avhose immediate ancestor, McMahon of Dartrey, had ac- 
tually been hung in front of his OAvn door* in the stormy days, 
yet fresh in all men’s minds, when Hugh O’Neill AA'as Avaging his 
heroic but unequal Avar against the giant poAver of Elizabeth. 

McMahon rose, and Avith flushed cheek and hashing eye gave his 
hand to O’Moore : “ Such aid as I can give, Rory, you shall have — 
the cause is just, and the God of justice Avill bless our arms — we Avere 
no men, either you or I, could Ave forget Dartrey or Mullaghmast.f 

♦ Could Philip O’Reilly haA'-e looked into the future but a few years, 
he would have seen a venerable chieftain of his own race hanging 
from a tree, within sight of his own castle windows, during the bloody 
Cromwellian period. These horrible tragedies are, and will ever be, 
traditional in Ulster. 

t Every reader of Irish history is familiar with the story of the 
treacherous murder of the O' Moores at the Rath of Mullaghmast. It 
is one of the bhickest pages in the annals of British rule in Ireland. 


16 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


When the banner of our country is again unfurled, the men of 
Uriel will be found in the right place and at the fitting time. 
O’Reilly, what say you 

“ I say this, Costelloe McMahon, that there beats not in Irish 
bosoms hearts more true than those of Breffny-O’Reilly. Let the 
clans of Ulster once raise the war-shout and the Red Hand 
point the way, the O’Reillys will not be hindmost, take my 
word !” 

“ Uriel and Breffny for ever !” shouted Tirlogh O’Neill ; “ I told 
you the truth was in them, Rory O’Moore ! — now for Fermanagh !” 
and he turned his fierce eyes on Maguire, who appeared to take 
the matter rather coolly for his liking. 

“ Fermanagh is not an ass, to be driven at will,” said Maguire 
haughtily and coldly. “ If Roger O’Moore, or any other man, 
can show me any fair prospect of success, I am ready to join a 
cause which I know is just and righteous, but as yet, I have 
heard or seen nothing to change my opinion, namely, that as 
things stand now with us of the old faith it would be madness 
to make a show of fight. Idle boasting will do nothing, Roger 
O'Moore !” 

O’Neill’s hand was on his skene in an instant, and the other 
gentlemen, although habitually more self-possessed, could not 
conceal their surprise. O’Moore laid his hand on O’Neill’s arm, 
and admonished him by a gentle pressure to listen patiently. 

“ Nay, Tirlogh,” said Maguire with a calm smile, “ if others* 
feathers were but as easily ruflied as yours, you should have hot 
work of it, let me tell you ! By what I said, I meant no offence 
to any gentleman of this good company. What I want, Rory 
O’Moore, is this : Before we take any rash step in a matter which 
concerns all men of Irish blood, or professing the Catholic faith, 
let us see what the lords and gentlemen of that religion in other 
parts of the country have a mind to do. The chain is as heavy on 
them as it is on us — they have as many wrongs as we to rouse 
their ire — of a surety, then, they will lend a hand — ^let us do 
nothing till we acquaint them and make an agreement with them 
as to what share of the work they will take !” 

“ Your lordship must surely forget,” said O’Moore, his hand 
still resting lightly on the arm of his refractory neighbor, ” what 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


17 


I told you a few days since when I saw you at your lodgings, to 
wit, that I have journeyed much of late through several parts of 
the Irish country, and have talked the matter over with many of 
the first men as to name and standing — tliey are all well affected 
towards this thing, as far as I could see, and, with God’s blessing, 
are determined to join us. There is not a man of the ancient 
race, I dp think, in Ulster, Connaught, or Munster that will not 
rise at the first news of an attack on the government forces. Nay 
more, my good Lord, there be those of English blood — ay ! within 
the borders of the Pale itself, who are only waiting for us to 
strike a blow in defence of religion, when they will join us heart 
and soul !” 

“ Well, there is some encouragement in that,” said Maguire, 
“ especially as regards the Connaught and Munster tribes — as for 
the Palesmen, it will go hard with them when they strike a blow 
on the same side with us Irishry, as they choose to style us. 
However, Roger, I will not be the man to stand by and see 
others fighting my battle — it w’ould ill become one of my name — 
so, in due time — nay, nay, no fierce looks, Tirlogh O’Neill ! — I 
say in due time — that is, when fitting preparation be made here 
at home and our countrymen abroad are in the way of joining 
us with their well-tried swords — then, I and mine will not be 
found wanting!” He had spoken all along with a sort ol 
nervous trepidation, that was but too visible, but as he reached 
the close, his voice gathered strength and firmness, and he spoke 
the last words in a tone as firm as even O’Moore himself could 
wish, though he relished not the qualified consent which ought 
to have come, he thought, without reserve or exception. 

But O’Neill in his thoughtless, headlong generosity felt none 
of this, and he was the first to grasp the young nobleman’s hand, 
which the others all did in their turn. 

“Nobly said, Connor Maguire,” said the warm-hearted sen 
of the O’Neills, and his voice quivered with emotion ; “ I shamed 
to see the Chieftain of Fermanagh throwing cold water on so 
good a cause. Now you speak like a Maguire ! — Let’s have a 
bumper, most sage Rory, to drink Maguire’s health 1” 

“ And success to the cause in which we are all embarked I” 


18 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the host added, as the brimming tankards gleamed aloft in 
every hand. 

There was a momentary pause, during which one looked at 
the other, and all, as if by a common impulse, turned their eyes 
on Maguire. That chieftain saw the doubt, and a smile of cheer- 
ing import lit his manly features. He was the first to raise the 
goblet to his lips, and he drained it to the patriotic toast, as given. 
The others followed his example, and O'Moore felt that some- 
thing had been done — the representatives of four powerful 
houses stood pledged to the common weal when they parted 
that evening. 




THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

“ In vain did oppression endeavor 
To trample that green under foot ; 

The fair stem was broken, but never 
Could tyranny reach to its root. 

Then come, and around it let’s rally. 

And guard it henceforward like men ; 

Oh ! soon shall each mountain and valley 
Grow bright with its verdure again. 

Meanwhile, fill each glass to the brim, boys, 

With water, with wine, or potheen. 

And on each let the honest wish swim, boys, 

Long flourish the Gaol and the Green !” 

^ M. J. Barry. 

EiauT or ten days after the dinner party at O’Mooi o’s lodgings 
two gentlemen stood together at a window in an old weatlier- 
beaten castle amongst the heath-clad hills of Tyrone. The scene 
without was wild and rugged, bare, bleak hills of every variety of 
shape stretching far and away, with brown moors and patches of 
stubble-fields here and there between. Few traces of human ha- 
bitation were at first sight visible, but a closer examination 
showed the district thickly inhabited. The hill-sides and the 
valleys, the moors and the meadow-lands were all dotted with 
cabins and cottages, whose time-darkened clay walls were brown 
as the withered herbage or the arid soil around them. Even 
while the eye endeavored to distinguish these hut-like dwellings 
from amid the drear monotony of the scene, smoke began to as- 
cend in many a spiral column from every imaginable point, giving 
life and animation, if not grace or beauty, to the scene. But it 
was not the brown autumnal hills, or the smoke from cottage- 
fire giving note of the evening meal, that arrested the wandering 


20 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


gaze or occupied the minds of the two individuals who stood in 
earnest conversation at a window of the great hall in yon gray 
old keep, whose solitary tower, surrounded by high, strong walls 
of rough stone, looms dark and menacing over die adjacent moor- 
lands. Both were in the prime of life, and their sinewy propor- 
tions showed to full advantage in the close-fitting truis, and what 
we would c,pi\\ jacket, of the Irish chiefs of that and former ages, 
as they stood in the flickering, glaring light of a bog-wood fire 
blazing and crackling behind them in the wide, open chimney of 
the hall. The short cloak or cochal which invariably completed 
the costume, hung more gracefully from the shoulders of one, 
while the broad chest and stalwart form of the other would have 
furnished a model for one of the Athletes of old. His voice, wdien 
he spoke, too, w'as rough and strong, with something imperious 
in its tone ; while that of his companion w^as soft and w'ell-modu- 
lated, as one who had lived long in cities, it might be in courts. 
They talked in characteristic fashion of the great scheme then 
in agitation for the country’s w'eal, and he of the courtly mien 
was urging on his not very patient auditor certain reasons Avhich 
he himself deemed conclusive for a speedy and general demon- 
stration of strength. Surely we have heard those mellifluous 
accents before, and as surely it is Roger O’Moore that speaks; 
His companion is a stranger to us, but we all at once remember 
having lately seen a face like his and a burly form of just such 
muscular proportions. Putting one thing with another, the Ty- 
rone fortress, the authoritative tone of this stalwart chieftain, and 
the eagerness wherewith the astute Leinsterman labors to con- 
vince him, we venture on a shrewd surrnise, eventually found 
correct. With a start we recognize Sir Phelim O’Neill, at that 
period the chief man of his race in Ulster, and the old gray for- 
talice under whose smoky rafters he appears before us is, then, no 
other than Kinnard Castle, made memorable to all aftertimes by 
the valorous exploits of its martial lord. 

O’Moore had been watching through the misty light from 
without, the lowering brow of the northern chieftain and the 
fiery glances which shot at intervals from his half-closed eyes. 

“ I say they count on our forbearance. Sir Phelim — or mayhap 
they name it cowardliness. Those men of blood and rapine have 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


21 


doubtless made up their minds that our lives and what holdings 
we still have are theirs when they list to seize them, and that the 
spirit of our fathers is squeezed out of us by the load of misery 
they have put upon us — they have done what men could to cool 
our blood by keeping us on low living and divers other ex- 
pedients ” 

Sir Phelim interrupted him with a grim smile. “ They may find 
it too hot for their liking, an’ they wait a little. But name them not, 
Rory— I confess to a want of patience, at all times, but the black 
villany of these canting knaves is something I cannot even think 
of without feeling for my skene. By our hopes of happiness here- 
after, Rory O’lMoore, I would barter my chance of that earldom 
of Tyrone of which you spoke but now, ay ! and the broad lands 
that called the great Hugh master, could I but see the green 
flag waving from Dublin Castle, and Parsons and Borlase swing- 
ing from the battlements ! Before God, I would this very night !” 

“ I doubt it not, my friend,” said O’Moore, with undisguised 
satisfaction, “ but, now that you mention that accursed Castle, 
I must tell you a thing which has come into my mind concerning 
it. Come a little farther this way — I see your people are making 
ready for the evening repast.” 

“ Pooh, man, heed them not — the Sassenach tongue is a dead 
one to them — so should it be to us all — and as for treachery — did 
they catch the meaning of our words — there be no such poisonous 
weed amongst our heather. Still, an’ it please you better, let us 
move somewhat farther from the gillies’* lugs.” 

O’ Moore then unfolded to his astonished host, in as few words 
as might be, a plan which had been projected by himself and 
others yet to be named for the seizure of Dublin Castle with its 
stores of arms and ammunition, as the first grand move in their 
military tactics. lie was proceeding to enlarge in his clear and 
lucid style on the incalculable advantages likely to follow this 
bold stroke, if successfully carried out, but O’Neill broke in very 
curtly with 

* Gillie was the Celtic word equivalent to out follower or attendant. 
Hence the prefix Gill or Gilla to some of the old names, such as GiU 
Patrick, Gil-macuddy, &o. 


22 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ What ! — take the Castle ! — without men or reasonable arms ! 
—why, before Heaven, man, I think your wits are failing you !” 

“ It may be so,” replied O’Moore with a quiet smile, “ though 
before I leave you I may prove myself sane enough. But, I pray 
you tell me what you mean by reasonable arms 1 — what manner 
of arms be they V’ 

“Nay, Roger O’Moore,” cried the fiery northman, “ this, I take 
it, is no laughing matter ; you know well that by reasonable arms 
I mean arms of sufficient quality and in sufficient numbers, 
which, if so be you had, where are the men and the leaders to 
carry out such a measure I Sdeath, man, where be all these 7” 

“ If you will but hear me, Sir Phelim, I will make this matter 
plain to your comprehension. You have heard, doubtless, of cer- 
tain instructions lately sent over by the king’s majesty concerning 
forces to be raised here for the Spanish and other continental 
services ” 

“ Yea, surely I have heard the thing spoken of, but wdiat is 
that to us, or rather will it not be hurtful to us in this matter to 
have our best men sent abroad, if it so happen that w-e need 
them here at home I” 

“ Ay, but suppose,” — ^lie lowered his voice almost to a w’hisper 
and drew still nearer his companion — “ suppose. Sir Phelim, these 
regiments — drilled and trained by royal permission — might lend 
us their good swords and muskets — ay ! and their stout arms to 
boot — what think you of that, son of the Hy-Nial V’ 

At this hint Sir Phelim’s countenance brightened up, and he 
turned eagerly towards O’Moore : “ What ! do you mean to 


“ I mean to say, O’Neill, that the colonels of several of those 
regiments — two or three I can answer for — have another end in 
view besides that of aiding the King of Sj^ain ; think you, my 
good friend, that our cause is not nearer and dearer to Colonel 
Hugh O’Byrne — for to such command is he named — than any 
other in the wide world 1 ” 

“ He were no man, Rory, an’ he were not so affected tow'ards 
us !” and honest Phelim rubbed his hands right gleefully. 

“Well! there be others of the officers of rank in that service 
no less willing to join us than Hugh O’Byrne. There be Plun* 


THE confederate CHIEFTAINS. 


23 


keLts and Dillons there, too, Sir Phelim ! — men with Catholic 
hearts though of English blood !” 

“I have no faith’ in them,” said the blunt Ulsterman, with a 
doubtful shake of the head. 

“ Nay, I tell you. Sir Phelim ! there are good men and honest 
men among them — ay! and some who have suffered long and 
much for the ancient faith — they are branded by the penal laws 
as well as we — why should they not join us in rending asunder 
a chain which binds us all alike ]” 

“■Well, well, Rory, I believe you know best; I will take your 
word for the good faith of these Norman churls ” 

“ How, Sir Phelim ! you forget, surely, that some of these lords 
and gentlemen are my friends and kinsmen ! — Norman churls 1 I 
like not the phrase.”* 

“Ha! ha!” laughed O’Neill, “I did not think to see such a 
frown on Rory O’ Moore’s smooth forehead — an’ it were me, now, 
none might wonder ; but you, Rory ! — for shame, man ! clear 
your brow, and keep your temper, I advise you, in Kinnard 
Castle, or your Norman friends and kinsmen, as you call th^m 
may fight the battle on their own account !” 

O’Moore, by this time sensible of his error, and partly ashamed 
of a display of petulance very unusual with him, applied himself to 
soothe the chafed Ulsterman, and with that end asked him if his 
brother had mentioned to him a certain matter appertaining to 
the dispositions of a powerful nobleman in the Western province. 

“ Something of the kind he said you hinted to him and the 
other gentlemen at your lodgings, but darkly and in a way they 
could make nothing of ” 

“ I told them further,” said O’Mopre, “ that I was kept from 
naming that lord by a promise of secrecy which he needs would 
have of me ; still, as you now seem to doubt the good dispositions of 
tlie Catholics of English blood, and as it behoves us to put the Red 
Hand in motion at any cost — for without its aid our cause were 
hopeless — I will tell you, on condition that you tell no man with- 

* It is agreed by historians of all parties that Roger O’Moore was 
connected both by kindred and affinity with many of the first houses 
of the English Pale. 


24 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. • 

out my consent — that this nobleman is no other than the Lord 
Mayo, whose power, and authority, and good credit amongst all 
men you know as well as I !” This speech was a master-stroke 
of dexterity, and told well on more accounts than one. 

“ Did Miles Burke give you his word that he will join us in 
this matter 1” 

O’Neill fixed his fiery eyes on the Lcinsterman as though he 
would read him through. 

“ So help me Heaven and our dear Lady, he promised in all 
sincerity to do his utmost in our behalf, when once our standard 
is on the wind !” 

Every trace of displeasure, not to say suspicion, vanished at 
once from Sir Phelim’s open countenance, and grasping his guest 
by the right hand he gave it a hearty squeeze as he led him to 
the dais at the head of the table where Lady O’Neill, -with one or 
two female friends, already awaited them. “Take your seat, 
man, and forgive my rough speech! Nora!” to his wife, “you 
know Roger O’Moore before now — the greatest man of his name, 
I take him to be !” 

O’Moore smiled and bowed with the graceful suavity peculiar 
to himself. Some other gentlemen of the O’Neills entered and 
took their seats, and the meal began with a clatter of knives and 
plates and dishes wdiich boded no good to the substantial viands 
on the board. 

The repast was not yet over when a bustle in the court with- 
out attracted the attention of those within, and before Sir Phe- 
lim’s inquiry as to the cause of the tumult had time to bo 
answered, the door at the lower extremity of the hall was thrown 
open, giving admission to an elderly man of portly mien, who 
walked up the hall to where the hostess sat, with the smiling air 
of a man who feels himself at home, every one present rising to 
greet him as he passed with some word of joyous welcome. 
O’ Moore, though he rose with the others, was at first somewhat 
puzzled, but his surprise was at an end when Sir Phelim pre- 
sented the new-comer as 

“Bishop McMahon of Clogher!” 

“What! Heber McMahon !” cried O’Moore joyfully. 

“ The same, good sir,” said the patriotic prelate, with a good- 


THE GONFEDEIIATE CHIEFTAINS. 25 " 

humored smile, as his quick eye ran over the face and figure of 
O’Moore. 

“ Then I am better pleased to meet you, my lord of Clogher, 
than if you were the Pope of Rome, to whom be all reverence ! 
The name of Heber McMahon is as a trumpet-note heralding 
victory !” 

“I joy to hear it, Mr. O’Moore,” returned the Bishop, “for 
in sooth my heart is on fire at the present hour with hopes and 
wishes for speedy action on behalf of our oppressed people, and 
far in the solitude of my poor dwelling my ears have been glad- 
dened of late by the tales of Roger O’Moore’s heroic efforts to 
rouse the chief men of the nation from their fatal lethargy ! 
Heaven bless you, my son ! you are worthy of your noble race !” 
And the layman and the bishop, then meeting for the first time, 
clELsped each other’s hand with the fervor of old friends for long 
years parted. 

Lady O’Neill, being in poor health at the time, so far from 
taking any interest in the contemplated movement, shrank wit*» 
nervous apprehension from the possibility of a rising which hw 
dread of the English made her regard as likely to draw dowii 
swift and sure destruction on all concerned. She was a pious 
and devoted Catholic, and felt, in common with all others, the 
crying injustice wherewith those of the ancient faith were treated 
year after year by every successive ruler, still she feared that any 
attempt to throw off the cruel shackles which bound the peo- 
ple would only increase the general misery, and, sure to end in 
defeat, make matters worse instead of better. She had seen, for 
months before, all manner of secret meetings and consultations 
going on within the precincts of her dwelling, and well knoAving 
that her husband had more ambition than prudence, and was 
naturally fond of excitement, she feared his being drawn into the 
assumption of a responsibility which would be sure to make him 
a prominent mark for that judicial vengeance which never spared 
any one. In the beginning she had remonstrated warmly with 
her husband against the making a general rendezvous of Kin- 
nard Castle, urging him if those meetings were to be held, to ar- 
range it so that some of the other chiefs and nobles of the pro- • 
vince should have them occasionally at their several houses in 
2a 


26 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


order to avoid fixing suspicion on him.* But Sir Phelim was 
little in the habit of taking counsel of women, so he only laughed 
at his wife’s fears, and, at length, cut her short with an order to 
mind her own business, nor dare for the future to meddle in his. 
The lady knowing by long experience that further interference 
on her part would do no manner of good, contented herself ever 
after with showing a cold countenance to the gentlemen who fre- 
quented the Castle on this, to her, obnoxious business. She had 
no difficulty in distinguishing them, for they were all, without ex- 
ception, heads of the old Irish families, men who had severally 
and separately long accounts of insult, and outrage, and robbery 
to settle with the government. In her heart the Lady Nora sym- 
pathized with these injured chieftains, for she herself was of the 
old blood, but still, as I have said, she abhorred the idea of open 
insurrection, dreading its results, and so it was that her cheek 
paled and her rounded form wasted day by day under the pres- 
sure of fears which were necessarily pent up within her own 
bosom. She had personally a great respect for Roger O’Moore 
and a still greater for Heber McMahon’s high office, yet it was 
not without alarm that she saw them together at her board, for 
the part they were both acting in the way of stirring up the 
chiefs waS well known to her. It was with difficulty that she 
could show even ordinary civility to her husband’s guests, not- 
withstanding the not very gentle hints from time to time thrown 
at her by Sir Phelim, and the still more powerful influence of 
O’Moore’s polished manners. On the plea of indisposition she 
left the table early with her companions, having first ascertained 
from the bishop his intention of saying Mass next morning. 

“ But where, my lord? — surely not here — ^not in the castle T’ 
Assuredly no, my daughter, — if you are afraid of running 
such risk !” 


* That this advice was a wise and salutary one, we see from the 
fact that in the famous letter of Sir Wm. Cole, governor of Enniskillen, 
to the Lords Justices, apprising them of some unusual stir amongst the 
Ulster chiefs, he founds his opinion on the number of visitors going 
and coming, as he heard, all summer, to and from Sir Phelim O’Neill’i 
house at Kinnard. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


27 


“ In the Castle-chapel, my lord !” interrupted Sir Phelim, with a 
wrathful glance at his wife, of whose timidity he was heartily 
ashamed. “ With God’s help, we will soon have Mass when and 
where we wish.” 

“ But that time is not come, Phelim !” pleaded Nora ; “ oh ! be- 
think you ere it be too late. Think of the danger to the bishop— 
yourself — all of us !” 

“ Woman! hie you to your chamber 1” cried Sir Phelim, start- 
ing to his feet, “ not another word, now — begone I I say ! — too 
long have we worshipped in caves and huts through slavish fear — 
from this day out, Mass shall be duly said here in the castle — that 
is,” he added bitterly, “ when we can get priests to minister to us 
— ^let me see who shall intrude on our sacred rites !” 

Although Sir *Phelim spoke in English, the substance of what 
he said seemed well understood by all present, for as Lady O’Neill 
retired sad and sorrowful, she heard from all parts of the spacious 
hall, from retainers as well as guests, one long continued burst of 
applause. 

“ But on second thoughts,” said Sir Phelim, turning to the 
bishop, “ it may be that I go too far in this matter without autho- 
rity. Will you have any fears, my lord T’ 

“ Fears I” cried the prelate contemptuously, “ fears'to say Mass 
in Kinnard Castle, protected by the chief of Tyr-Owen ! Were I 
sure of death I would not shrink, — ^it were worth a hundred lives 
such as mine to see one such step taken in advance, — and by Sir 
Phelim O’Neill ! I would I were within sight of Parson’s ill- 
favored countenance and the news reach him at the council-board 
that Mass was said on a certain day in Kinnard Castle by one 
Heber McMahon, a titular popish bishop ! ha ! ha !” The bishop’s 
derisive laugh was echoed from all parts of the hall, and then 
the host called for a general bumper to the discomfiture of all 
tyrants and oppressors. 

“ I pledge you in Spanish wine'' said O’Moore pointedly. 

“ Not so, Rory, not so,” quickly rejoined his host, “ our own us- 
quebaugh and no other — ^foreign wines are good in their way, but at 
a time like this, my friend, I say the native whiskey warms the 
heart — ay ! and nerves the arm 

O’Moore gracefully assented, saying as he filled his goblet from 


28 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the steaming bowl : “ I believe you are in the right, our worthy 
host, in more senses than one — strength and power are from within 
the nation, whatsoever may come from without'^ 

Here the bishop excused himself from farther potations as the 
evening was wearing late, and soon after withdrew to his ap- 
pointed sleeping place, preceded by a tall henchman of the clan 
O’Neill, bearing an oil-lamp in which a rush-light glimmered 
by way of wick. It was never willingly that Rory O’Moore lin- 
gered long over the punch-bowl or the wine-cup, but on that oc- 
casion he found it no easy matter to escape the determined attack 
of Sir Phelim on his temperate habits. Fearing to exasperate the 
choleric chieftain by an obstinate refusal to continue the carouse, 
he sat much longer than was his wont, and at last succeeded only 
in effecting a timely retreat by the aid of a violent headache, 
which, indeed, was partly real, owing to the share he had been 
compelled to take in the fiery libations so plentifully poured” by 
O’Neill, to the cause of freedom and justice. With a very con- 
temptuous expression of pity, Sir Phelim returned his guest’s 
courteous salutation, while O’Moore, as he, in turn, marched to 
his chamber after a stately follower of the O’Neill’s, pathetically 
murmured to himself : 

“ Phelim O’Neill ! — honest Phelim O’Neill ! your drink is good, 
and your heart better, but I would your hospitality were less 
urgent.” 

Next day was Sunday, and hours before the lingering dawn, 
the bishop’s man was in the chapel, preparing all things for the 
celebration of the divine mysteries. The gloom of the place was 
broken, not dispelled, by the fitful glare of a pine- torch standing 
in an earthen socket close by the temporary altar,* making the 
damp walls and the rafters of black oak dimly visible. The cold 
autumn wind whistled dolefully around the narrow windows, 
which were, indeed, loop-holes filled up with thin sheets of horn, 
through which even the day-beam made its way but faintly. 
There was a ghostly look about the place, and the wailing of the 

* An oltar could not then have existed as a fixture in any building, 
public or private. It would have been as much as any nobleman oi 
gentleman’s life was worth tj have such a thing on his prem'ses. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


29 


wind was like the voices of perturbed spirits. It is probable that 
IMalachy McMahon would have shrunk from braving the loneli- 
ness of the place and the hour had he been without a companion, 
but he had taken the precaution of securing over-night the valu- 
able company of Shamus Beg, no less a person than the foster- 
brother of Sir Phelim. This individual, fully conscious of the 
dignity arising from his intimate connection with so great a chief 
— the greatest. Tie thought, in the whole island — gave himself lit- 
tle trouble to assist Malachy, deeming his presence there quite a 
sufficient stretch of condescension. So ho lay at full length in 
luxurious ease on a bench near the scene of Malachy’s labors, 
with the flickering light of the torch shining on his well-formed 
though somewhat stolid features. Ho evidently listened 'with 
much relish to Malachy’s oracular discourse, as that grave and 
half-clerical functionary suspended operations now and then to 
deliver himself of an opinion. From his long attendance on 
priests, dating, in fact, from his very boyhood, Malachy had 
acquired a certain gravity of demeanor amounting at times to a 
solemnity that was somewhat ludicrous. His claims to superior 
wisdom were, however, cheerfully admitted by all the Clan 
McMahon, amongst whom he was known by the soubriquet of 
Malachy na Soggarth, or Malachy of the Priests, and the stout- 
est McMahon in Farney, the boldest McKenna in Truagh would 
not raise a finger for the king’s crown against that privileged 
individual. Malachy always knew, or appeared to know, more 
than any of his fellows, and amongst the simple clansmen 
with whom he lived his dictum on any subject was almost as 
much respected as though he had drank from the mystic foun- 
tains of knowledge in the halls of Louvain or Salamanca. It 
was natural that at such a time, when all men’s minds were filled 
with portentous thoughts of coming events, the confidential ser- 
jvant of a bishop, a man so gifted withal as Malachy, should be 
in much request amongst the lower orders of the Catholics as an 
expounder of things past, present, and to come. 

“ As sure as you’re a living man, Shamus O’Hagan,” said Mala- 
chy, stopping for the twentieth time or so in front of his com- 
panion, “ as sure as you’re a living man, we’ll have a hard fight 
for it, if God is pleased to give us a victory over them thieving 


30 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINB. 


foreigners. Yon see they have the whole power of England at 
their hack, and what’s more, they have their general, the black 
devil below, to fight for them, Christ save us ! for sure wasn’t 
it him that put it in their hearts and in their heads to harass, and 
plunder, and slaughter poor creatures as they’re doing ever since 
the time of old Harry.” 

“ Never mind, Malachy,” said Shamus, half raising himself 
from his recumbent posture, “ we’ll pay them back for it some 
of these days. When Sir Phelim and the rest of the chiefs once 
get at them — as they will soon, please God on high! — they’ll settle 
them for ever and a day — ^I’ll go bail it’s little hurt or harm they’ll 
do, the murdering villains, when once we’re done with them.” 

To this Malachy shook his head doubtingly : “ We couldn’t do 
it, Shamus, we couldn’t do it — it’s a thing impossible, any way 
you take it, unless the Sassenachs of the Pale would stand to 
us — as they ought — for to be sure they’re of the same religion as 
ourselves, and for that reason they don’t know the day nor the 
hour they’ll be stripped of lands and livings as we are ourselves, 
glory be to God I — if they’d only come out like men and fight for 
their country and their God, we mightn’t care what day we’d 
hoist the green fiag, as I’ve heard the bishop say many a time. 
But sure I’m afeard, and so is the bishop, that ihafs what the 
Sassenachs will never do — as long as they can live shut up in 
their big stone castles, and hear Mass of an odd time down in a 
vault, or any place out of sight and hearing of the bloody Eng- 
lishers and Scotchmen from beyond seas, they don’t care a straw 
if all the Irishry in the country, man, woman and child, were 
roasted alive or turned out to starve on the wide world, as thou- 
sands of them are every year, and them the fiower of the old 
blood, more’s the pity ! — no, no, Shamus, if ever you see us gain- 
ing any of our rights, it’ll be with good help from France and 
Spain — and sure the ancient prophecies tell us that plainly.” 

“Ah, then, do they, Malachy I” asked Shamus with renewed 
interest, and he quickly raised himself to a sitting posture. 

“ Indeed they do, Shamus — they make it as clear as the sun at 
mid-day, that when Ireland rises to her feet again, and the race of 
Heber and Heremon gets back their own it will be with help from 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


31 


the King of France and the King of Spain — and the Pope himself, 
Shamus !” he added by way of climax. 

“ See that now !” 

“ Ay, and there’s great mention made, too, of the Irishmen in 
foreign countries — ^heroes of great fame, and strength, and courage, 
like the mighty men of old. Fin MacCool, and Ossian ” 

“ And Hugh of Tyr-Owen,” suggested the clansman of O’Neill. 
“ If he could only come himself with his warriors, now, from the 
cave of Aileach where they’re enchanted* — and who knows, Mal- 
achy — who knows but he may '1 Isn’t it prophesied that he’s to 
rise and head the men of Ireland when the country’s at a great 
pinch ? ” ' 

It was evident that Malachy had not much faith in the great 
Earl’s timely re-appearance, for he cut the other’s rhapsody short 
with 

“ There’s a man in this very house, now, that’ll be at the head 
and foot of everything.” 

“ Oh, to be sure — you mean Sir Phelim !” 

“ No, I don’t — Sir Phelim will be a great help, I know — ^but 
the man I mean is Rory O’Moore !” 

A dissenting grunt and a surly shake testified the foster-bro- 
ther’s disapproval, but what ho might have said was prevented 
for that time by the entrance of the bishop, whereupon Shamus 
betook himself to the vast dormitory allotted to the retainers and 
male domestics of the house, to apprise his fellows that the hour 
of Mass was at hand. 

* The peasantry in the northern parts of Ulster cherish as fondly tho 
belief of Hugh O’Neill’s being enchanted with his warriors under tho 
hill of Aileach as tho people of South Munster do the continued pre- 
sence amongst them, in a similar state of enchantment, of Iheir great 
champion, Garret Earla, as they familiarly style Gerald, the last 
Earl of Desmond. 


32 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER III. 

“ Joy, joy, the day is come at last, the day of hope and pride— 

And see ! our crackling bonfires light old Banna’s joyful tide, 

And gladsome bell, and bugle-horn from Newry’s captured tow’rs 
Ilark ! how they tell the Saxon swine, this land is ours, is ours I 
# # #.# * # * 

“ They bann’d our faith, they bann’d our lives, they trod us into earth, 
Until our very patience stirr’d their bitter hearts to mirth ; 

Even this great flame that wraps them now, not we but they have bred. 
Yes, this is their own work, and now, their work be on their head. 
#* *«**### 

“ Down from the sacred hills whereon a Saint'* communed with God, 
Up from the vale where BagnaTs blood manured the reeking sod. 

Out from the stately woods of Truagh, McKenna’s plunder’d home. 
Like Malin’s waves, as fierce and fast, our faithful clansmen come.” 

C. G. Duffy’s Muster of the North, 

It were tedious to describe the several meetings that took place 
during the next two weeks amongst the native lords and gentry 
of the northern province. The newly-awakened thirst for free- 
dom increased from day to day, and quickly spreading from the 
chieftains to their friends and followers, infused life and vigor 
and swelling hope into hearts long plunged in the torpor of 
despair. Before O’Moore quitted the confines of Ulster to return 
to his post in Dublin, he had contrived to visit all the principal 
chiefs at their widely-scattered dwellings, and on more than one 
c Jcasion had the satisfaction of bringing them together to concert 
measures for the grand and simultaneous efibrt to be forthwith 
made throughout the province. He had seen the fiery spirit of 

* St. Patrick, whose favorite retreat was Lecale, in the county 
Down, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


33 


Phelim O’Neill and his brother Tirlogh applied to the work of sober 
and earnest deliberation, in concert with the calmer O’Reilly and 
the haughty Maguire, and the bold, high-spirited McMahon. Nay, 
so vast and so potent was the spell of that auspicious hour, that 
even those who had been bitter enemies for years before, then 
met in peace to deliberate on the means of righting their common 
wrongs, and extended to each other the hand of fellowship across 
the council-board. O’Moore’s influence was all-powerful amongst 
them, and lay at the bottom of their league, although none of 
them was made to feel it. They had all in turn felt the force of 
his persuasive eloquence, and bowed to the wisdom of his sug- 
gestions, but not one amongst them would have acknowledged his 
superiority. This the sagacious Leinsterman well knew, and his 
enlightened patriotism being happily proof against that puerile 
vanity which makes men desirous of public homage, he was 
quite willing to let O’Neill and Maguire and the other Ulster 
chiefs have all the merit of the work — provided it was done, ho 
cared not who did, or appeared to do it. Yet somehow, by a sort 
of poetical justice that must have been purely instinctive, the 
share he had in the great movement was both understood and 
appreciated by the people who, as often happens, were more 
enthusiastic in the cause than most of those who undertook to be 
their leaders. No sooner did the glad [tidings of life and hope 
extend to any locality, no matter how remote, than the name of 
Rory O' Moore was whispered at the same time as the great ma- 
gician beneath whose wand the slumbering masses were to start 
into life endued with sudden power. The short glimpses which 
the people had of his handsome and graceful person during his 
flying visits to their chiefs, the little they had heard him speak, 
his extreme devotion to the national cause, the mystery which 
enveloped his comings and goings, the high repute in which he 
was held, and though last, not least, the well-known misfortunes 
of his ruined house, all conspired to inflame the minds of a lively 
imaginative people with a romantic interest in whatever con- 
cerned him : by common consent he was made the hero of the 
stupendous drama then in preparation, and his name became the 
watchword of freedom amongst the clans. 

Even when O’Mooro went back to Dublin, which he knew 
2 * 


34 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

must necessarily bo made the centre of operations, the charm 
of his presence lingered amongst the clansmen of the north, and 
when at length they came together armed and determined for 
the struggle, and planting their feet on their nat^e soil vowed 
that it should bo theirs and their children’s, as of old it was their 
fathers’, the name of the Leinster chief mingled with the war- 
cries of their respective leaders, and was heard above the din 
of many a battle-field where Irish arms prevailed— 

“ On the green hills of TJLster the white cross waves high, 

And the beacon of war flames each night to the sky — 

The taunt and the sneer let the. coward endure, 

Our trust is in God, and in Kory O’Moore.” 

Weeks and weeks did the chiefs and people of Ulster await 
gome symptom of co-operation, or even word of encouragement 
from their equally oppressed brethren of the South and West 
— ^from the East they had no hope of sympathy or succor, for 
there lay the English Pale with its sluggish Norman lords and its 
well-trained bands of stalwart yeomen, more ready ever to do 
battle for the autocrats of Dublin Castle, because they were Eng- 
lish, than for their fellow-suflerers in the cause of religion, 
because they had Irish blood in their veins. But except the 
few Leinster Catholics whom O’Moore succeeded in animating with 
a portion of his own spirit, the tribes of three provinces either 
were or appeared to be buried in the dullest apathy. Whether 
this was real or apparent, it disheartened the patriots of Ulster, 
but could not deter them from making an attempt to which they 
had braced up every nerve, and made what preparation their 
poverty allowed. O’Moore, well-knowing the effect which the 
rising of the northern province would have on the other native 
tribes, and fearing the tepidity that might grow out of procrasti- 
nation, sent trusty messengers to Sir Phelim O’Neill, urging liim 
to fulfil his part of their engagement, viz., the taking of London- 
derry and some other northern strongholds, and to effect a gene- 
ral rising of all the Ulster clans, on an appointed day. Sir 
Phelim, once into the affair, was, to do him justice, nothing loath 
to help it on by every means in his power, so that the work of 
preparation went bravely forward wherever his influence reached • 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


85 


and where his could not reach, other chieftains took it up, and 
sped it on, and all worked together for a happy completion of 
the herculean task which of hard necessity they undertook. The 
twenty-third day of October was fixed on for striking a grand 
and simultaneous blow in the cause of civil and religious freedom, 
and the very appointment of the day gave a new and strong 
impetus to the movement. «' 

Secrecy was, of course, observed as far as might be, yet such 
preparations could not be made without coming in some way 
under the observation of keen eyes all through the province, 
whose very consciousness of guilt, and of foul wrong done their 
neighbors, made them watchful and suspicious. They saw that 
the forges were a-going early and late, and the smiths ever ham- 
mering away at work which they might not see. Crowds of 
natives were seen loitering in and around the forges, and the 
snatches of songs wherewith the field and the workshop began 
suddenly to resound were all of a martial or patriotic kind, chiefiy 
borrowed from the strains of the old bards. There was a cer- 
tain amount of independence, too, in the bearing of old and 
young — a firmness of step and an erectness of mien little com- 
mon heretofore among the down-trodden children of the soil, and 
this the Scottish and English colonists took to be the worst 
symptom of all. A presentiment of coming evil darkened many 
a thrifty household which had grown rich and prosperous on 
the spoils of poor Popish recusants. The oppressors began all at 
once to pale with a nameless fear, and the bustle of preparation 
stealthily going on the province over, suddenly extended itself to 
the bawns and castles of “ the planters.” Couriers were dis- 
patched to Dublin from divers “loyal gentlemen” of Ulster, 
acquainting the Lords Justices that something dreadful was in 
contemplation amongst the Irish Papists, which they implored 
them to look after while it was yet possible to avert the evil. 

Tho night of the 22d October came on dark and moonless. 
The earth was wrapt in the double veil of gloom and silence, and 
the warders on the English Castles of Ulster, as they walked to 
and fro on the bleak battlements exposed to tho piercing damp 
of the atmosphere, amused themselves not seldom, for lack of 
bettor omployment, with heaping curses on the cowardly Papists 


36 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and " wood kerne,” who, hidden away in huts and holes, kept 
them shivering there in the cold night breeze, though for what 
earthly us© they could not see, as the rascally crew were too care- 
ful of their wretched hides to come within range of musket or 
reach of whip. 

Such, too, might have been the amiable cogitations of certain 
troopers belonging to the military command of Captain Lord Blay- 
ney, of Castle Blayney, in the county of Monaghan, as they rode at 
a brisk trot along the high road through the barony of Farney, 
about ten of the clock on that same night. They had been 
escorting some members of the Blayney family to Dundalk 
on their way to England, and were now returning post haste to 
the Castle full charged with divers rumors relating to the sup- 
posed treacherous practices of the Irishry, which they had heard 
amongst the Palesmeh in the old borough. 

All at once the foremost riders blasted out a military oath, with 
a vociferous “ who be youT’ 

The party addressed consisted of two individuals mounted on 
the rough nags of the country, whose approach had attracted no 
attention, in the greater noise and clatter of the cavalry. At 
first, the soldiers were half inclined to let the strangers pass un- 
molested, being quite sure that they must be “ the right sort” to 
venture so near a troop of Blayney’s horse, the only cayalry to 
be met in that wild country. The answer to their rough chal- 
lenge quickly undeceived them. 

“ We’re peaceable men going about our business — ^pri’thee let 
us pass!” 

“ Peaceable men !” repeated the comet in command, “ that is 
no answer — be ye friends or foes T 

“ Foes we are not, but fain would be friends to all men,” 
replied the larger and more prominent of the two. “ I pray thee, 
good sir, detain us not, for our business brooks not delay I” 

“ Ay I they say there is much business of that kind now going 
on hereabouts,” said the officer, and he planted his horse full in 
the other’s way. “ Let us hear who you are that we may know 
whether you be a loyal subject or one Popishly affected.” 

“I am Heber McMahon, Bishop of the Catholics in these 
parts ” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


37 


“ For God’s sake, my lord !” cried his cpmpanion in low smoth- - 
ered accents, “ don’t — don’t — they’ll be the death of us — you 
know they will — they’ll hang us without judge or jury !” An 
exulting shout from the troopers gave fearful confirmation of the 
justice of his fears. 

“ Be still, Malachy,” said the Bishop with stem dignity ; “ they 
cannot slay us unless God wills it, and if He does, we cannot die 
in a better time. Sir,” said he, addressing the officer, “ 1 am 
going to administer the last rights of religion to a dying sinner — 
detain me not, I adjure you by the Holy Name of that God who is 
to judge us all !” 

“Now, by the Book!” cried the comet, sternly enjoining his 
men to keep back, “ this impudence of thine, McMahon, passes 
belief. A man whose life is forfeited by his own confession — 
openly avowing himself a Papist bishop, and caught, as one may 
say, in the act of practising unlawful rites — here, soldiers ! — 
advance and seize him — but see that you harm him not till we 
place him in the captain’s custody. He is a pestilent recusant — 
a snake in the grass, and his capture will fill our pockets — seize 
the two and ride on at full speed — we have lost too much time 
in parley with the wretch 1” 

The bishop made no further attempt at remonstrance ; indeed, 
he was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, just as the half 
drunken soldiers rode up on either side of him and his servant, 
the latter being, by this time, well nigh paralyzed with fear, 
though ho kept repeating his Ave Maria in a voice inaudible to 
the ruffian crew around him. 

The bishop’s cough seemed to annoy the troopers wonderfully, 
and the fellow who rode on his right hand taking him by the 
shoulder gave him a hearty shake Stop your coughing, you 
old Popish thief, or I’ll choke you as dead as a herring.” 

It seemed as though the fellow’s savage threat acted as an incan- 
tation, for in an instant the thick darkness was, as it were, in- 
stinct with life, and resolved itself into human beings. The cry of 
“ McMahon aboo” arose — from what seemed a thousand voices — 
on every side, before, behind, and allaiound the terrified troopers, 
men started into sudden existence, armed, they could see, with 
weapons that assmned fearful shapes in the darkness. The wild 


38 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


clan shout of the McMahons, which startled even the well- 
trained cavalry horses, was suddenly succeeded by a fierce and 
vengeful cry of “ down with Blayney’s bloody cut-throats !” and 
instantly the clash of weapons was heard on every side, and 
the horsemen, almost forgetful of their prisoners, thought only of 
effecting their escape, or if that were not possible, of selling their 
lives as dearly as they could, when a loud authoritative voice 
made itself heard above the tumultuous din — it was that of He- 
ber McMahon, commanding his friends and kinsmen to shed no 
blood. 

“ Let them go, in God’s name,” said he, “ or rather, Eman,” ad- 
dressing the leader of the bold Farney men who, guided by his 
voice, was now close at his side, “ or rather, take them prisoners 
to your chief — but see they are kept safe— it would be an ill be- 
ginning to slay them, and they so few in number.” 

Some grumbling voices were heard amongst the crowd remind- 
ing the bishop of divers outrages committed by Blayney’s troop- 
ers, but the stern prelate silenced all olyections by repeating 
his orders to Eman McMahon to take the soldiers in charge. 

The latter was easier said than done, for, as if actuated by a 
common impulse, and with a cry of “ Save who can !” the score 
of troopers set spurs to their horses, and, drawing their sabres, 
dashed furiously through the amazed and frightened multitude 
which, falling back on either side, from the horses’ hoofs, left a 
passage open, and before the shouts from the rear of “ Seize them ! 
seize them !” could be made intelligible to those in front, the op- 
portunity of obeying the command was lost, and the troopers 
were dashing at headlong speed along the road far beyond the 
reach of pike or musket. Not a sound escaped them during the 
few moments of their detention or even when they succeeded in 
effecting their escape. The joy of finding themselves again at 
liberty, so far safe in life and limb, coupled with their uncertainty 
as to whether other and more fatal obstacles might not still im- 
pede their progress, gave them little inclination for indulging in 
idle bravado, and it was not till they came within sight of Castle 
Blayney that they ventured to slacken rein. The account vrhich 
they gave of their adventure with the McMahons was wholly in- 
explicable to their captain. It was something so remote from the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


89 


range of probability that the Irish should be abroad in such num- 
bers at that hour, or that the notorious Heber McMahon should 
thrust himself, as it were, amongst English bayonets — for his bold- 
ness amounted to nothing less — that Blayney was completely 
mystified. At length a bright thought shone upon his mind, and 
he started to his feet and flung back his chair with a vehemence 
that made the silver tankards on the table before him dance and 
quiver : 

“ I have it, Trellingham ! by h — I have it ! These Popish 
hounds are not so bold without good reason — what if this night 
were — let me see — it is on the stroke bf midnight !” 

“Hark! heard you that savage shout '? — you are right, cap- 
tain 1 There be mischief brewing this very hour.” 

A tumult was now heard within the castle, and soldiers and 
domestics crowded unbidden to the captain’s presence with tid- 
ings that the country was up in arms, and bonfires blazing on 
every hill. Measures were promptly taken to secure the castle 
against a sudden assault, but its defences were not much to 
boast of, and after doing all they could to strengthen it, the small 
garrison awaited in fear and trembling the moment when “ the 
bloody Irish Papists” should take it by storm and burn it over 
their heads — ^which, by the dread law of retaliation, they had but 
too much reason to expect. 

When the bishop found his enemies gone, and none but friends 
around, he stated his intention of resmning his journey, so roughly 
interrupted. A couple of miles were yet to be travelled, and 
the sick man lay in imminent danger of death. 

“ But are they goneV' put in Malachy ; “ are you swre they’ll 
not come back I” 

“ No fear of that, anyhow,” laughed Eman, “ you may take 
my word for it, Malachy !— what would you say, my lord, to an 
escort — a dozen or so of our Farney men P’ 

“ Not one, Eman, not one — thanks for your kindness. I do 
not think I shall meet any more such obstacles between this and 
my journey’s end, and it ill beseems a minister of the Lord to go 
guarded to the sick bed.” 

“ As you will, my good lord, there be friends enow on foot to 
keep you from harm ; aud I warrant the English will stay within 


40 


THE COKEEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


doors for this night. Now, friends, up to the hill there and light 
your bonfire— an’ ye wait longer, our signal will be far behind 
the others — ^haste for the honor of Famey !” 

Hundreds ran to do his bidding, but ere yet the crackling, 
smoking brushwood had burst into a flame, a joyful shout from 
the assembled clansmen rent the midnight sky. From every hill 
northward a column of flame was shooting up, one following the 
other in quick succession till the country far and near was tinged 
with a ruddy light, and even the blackness of the heavens was 
partially broken by the thousand prophet-flres of earth heralding 
the dawn of freedom. 

To those who ascended the brow of Slieve-gullian that night at 
midnight a glorious spectacle presented itself, if haply they who 
looked were of the proscribed class, the ancient dwellers in the 
land. The hills and the mountains to the north were in a blaze, 
and along the margin of the rivers the signal-flres were shooting 
up one by one. At flrst it was but the hill country of Tyr-Owen 
that sent up its flaming protest to the heavens above, then most 
of Tyr-Cormel followed — the hills of Antrim were shrouded in 
darkness, except a few along the borders of Donegal, so, too, 
were those of Derry, but Down and Armagh quickly caught up 
the illumination, and onward like wildfire it passed through 
Monaghan and Cavan, and westward through all Fermanagh, to 
the very gates of Enniskillen. And the shouts which came 
swelling on the gale, some full and distinct, others faint and far 
like the murmur of ocean-shells, were the voice of a newly- 
awakened people, tribe answering to tribe, and county to county, 
even as hill flashed electric news to hill that the children of the 
soil had at length risen in their might to throw off the incubus 
that had paralyzed their existence. As that light of hope, so 
long expected, broke athwart the darkness of the winter’s night, 
the persecuted ministers of religion, hiding away in secret places, 
raised their hands in thankfulness to Heaven that they had lived 
to see that sight, and floods of joyful tears streamed from many 
an eye long unused to weep. 

But the bristling castles of the strangers, whose prosperity was 
based upon the ruin of the native chiefs, were dark and dismal 
tliat busy night. Terror and confusion had suddenly taken the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


41 


place of insolent security, and Castle Blayney was not the only 
one where swift and terrible vengeance was anticipated. Had 
the Catholic people of Ulster been what their enemies delight to 
represent them, few Protestants would have lived next day 
amongst its hills and valleys to tell the tale of retributive justice. 
As it was, not one single murder stained their hands throughout 
that general insurrection.* Long before noon of the following 
day, Castle Blayney was garrisoned by Eman Oge with his stout 
Famey men, and Blayney’s troopers, “ in durance vile,” mar- 
velling much, it may be, at the unlooked-for mercy shown them, 
especially as they had wounded some few of the insurgents 
before the castle was given up. 

Lord Blayney’s wife and children were also captured, but he 
himself escaped to Dublin Castle with the news. 

It was understood among the chiefs that, for the present at 
least. Sir Phelim O’Neill was to act as commander-in-chief of the 
Ulster forces. As the head of the O’Neills he deemed himself 
entitled to the office, and flung himself with right good will into 
the stormy arena where its duties called him. Had he been a 
man of finer or more tender feelings, it would then have been a 
painful task, for but few days before he had laid in the grave the 
once-beloved wife of his youth. The terror of the approaching 
event, with all its fearful contingencies and possibilities, had has- 
tened the progress of disease, and the gentle, but too timorous 
spirit of Lady O’Neill had fluttered out of its mortal tenement 
just in time to avoid the tumultuous warfare wffiich so long after 
convulsed her native province. She was borne to the grave amid 
the loud wailing of her kinswomen from the plains of Iveagh, 
followed by a long and imposing array of O’Neills and Magen- 
nises, the latter headed by her two brothers. Sir Con and Bryan 
Magennis. Sir Phelim’s mourning was not from his heart — his 
wife had latterly been more of a restraint on his actions than any- 


* All Protestant historians admit that during tho first week of tho 
rebellion — that is to say, in the first glowing outburst of recovered 
liberty, not one individual was put to death by the Irish. It was only 
when murders and massacres perpetrated on themselves drove them to 
it, that they adopted a system of retaliation 


42 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


thing else, and such being the case he viewed her death at that 
particular juncture as a capital stroke of good luck. When her 
coffin was placed amongst the mouldering remains of her lordly 
ancestors in far Iveagh, and the tomb of the Magennises shut her 
for ever from his view ; when he knelt in prayer with her brothers 
and other near relatives for a short space before quitting the 
graveyard, his “ requiescat in pace'' was breathed in all sincerity, 
for internally he added, “ now, indeed, may I rest in peace, or 
rather do in peace that which it behoves me to do for myself and 
others ! The great dread secret which gives me present rank and 
future riches came never to your ear. I kept that from you, 
Nora ! because I knew it would neither gladden your heart nor 
smooth your last journey ! God rest you, then, Nora Magennis ! 
heaven to you this day — ^name and fame to me, and freedom to 
all our race ! Up, brothers, clansmen of Iveagh !” he shouted, 
starting to his feet, “ grief and affection have had their hour — 
now for freedom and revenge !” 

Anger was at first mingled with surprise on the faces of Nora’s 
kinsmen, as they slowly arose and blessed themselves after their 
devotions. Even his own friends and followers looked surprised 
at the sudden, and, as it appeared, indecorous change in Sir Phe- 
lim’s manner. Sir Con Magennis, after eyeing the other sternly 
for a moment, at last spoke: “Your words were more seemly, 
methinks, at another time. Neither the hour nor the place befits 
such discourse.” 

“ Nay, Sir Con Magennis, you shall hear what I have to say, 
and then judge if the tale be not one for churchyard bounds — 
ay ! by my sacred hopes, it is one to make the dead clansmen of 
Iveagh start from beneath our feet, into vengeful life, their eyes 
charged with heaven’s lightning to blast and bum the whole 
treacherous brood of robbers and murderei'S !” 

“ Sir Phelim O’Neill,” said the elder Magennis coldly, “ we 
would have, if it so please you, this fresh count in the indictment 
— of what nature may it be that we are called on to hear it over 
our sister’s dead body, as one may say 

O’Neill, folding his arms, wrapped his long cloak around him, 
and turned on his interlocutor an eye wherein his natural impe- 
tuosity struggled with the stern coldness which he deemed most 


Tins CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


43 


fitting the occasion : “ You pledged your word, Sir Con Magennis, 
to join us with all your clan so soon as Tyrone came in person to 
head the northern army — did you, or did you not 

“ Surely I did, and with God’s help, I mean to do what I said 
I would do— at the first news of the Earl’s landing on Irish ground 
the banner of Magennis is flung to the breeze.” 

“ Chieftain of Iveagh,” said O’Neill in a voice hoarse with sup- 
pressed passion, “ that news will you never hear — the son of the 
great Earl will you never lay eyes upon.” 

“ How so, man ! — speak out and tell us what your words — ^your 
looks portend — ^what of Tyrone 1” 

“ They have murdered him. Con Magennis ! The Sassenach 
has put him out of the way in the nick of time— oh ! doleful news 
for me to tell !” 

A cry of horror escaped from every listener, but Magennis by 
a sign commanded silence : “ Murdered him — did you say 1 — 
when "i where 1 — they dare not — ^no, by St. Columb ! they dare 
not !” 

“ I tell you they did — choked like a dog was he in his bed by 
night — yea, even in. Brussels where of late he had been awaiting 
the summons home !” 

“ Sir Phelim O’Neill ! are you sure— swe— that this maddening 
news is true 1” 

“ As sure as that yon sun is clouded in the heavens. The car- 
rier who brought me the sad tidings from Rory O’Moore in Dub- 
lin is still under my roof — you may see and speak with him when 
^ you list.” 

Magennis made no answer, but the convulsive working of 
every feature, and the swollen veins on his white forehead, told a 
tale of mighty passion, beyond the power of words to express. 

“Your hand, O’Neill !” he faltered out, after a pause of deep mean- 
ing; “who talks of delay now is an enemy to our just and holy 
cause — the axe is ready— before God it shall be laid to the root 
of the accurse(J tree ere many days go by. Brother !— kinsmen 
what say ye 1 — shall we longer hug our chains 1 — shall we longer 
pocket wrongs and insults 7 — shall the blood of our slaughtered 
kindred longer cry to heaven unavenged 1” 

A shout of execration, both loud and long, resounded through 


44 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the graveyard, and each stout clansman grasped his skene, and 
muttered a stern vow, as Bryan Magennis bent his knee before 
his brother and chief and swore from that day forward to wage 
unceasing war against the common enemy. 

“ Home, then,” cried the chieftain of Iveagh, “ home, friends 
and kinsmen all, and speed ye in making all things ready — fare 
you well, O’Neill ! — men of Tyr-Owen ! fare ye well ! — God give 
us all stout hearts and strong arms to fight His battle and our 
own ! — send me word. Sir Phelim, when the day is fixed on — as 
early as you will, let it be — and, on the faith of Magennis, you 
shall hear of me and mine full soon !” So the chieftains parted, 
each declining the other’s proffered hospitality ; even the funeral 
festivities then deemed indispensable were for that time laid aside. 

Magennis kept his word, for in less than twenty-four hours 
after the receipt of Sir Phelim’s fateful message, news was 
brought to the assembling clans that “Newry was taken by 
Sm Con Magennis.” The words were like an electric shock, 
animating the tepid and the dull, giving life and warmth to the 
cold and passionless, and sending a thrill of hope through the 
hearts of all. At midnight the beacon of freedom blazed on the 
liill-tops, and by the morning light the stout clansmen of the 
north were trooping in Rrmed bands over highway and by-way 
to the place appointed for the general muster, viz., the plain in 
front of Kinnard Castle. 

It was a clear frosty day, and the sun shone down on the 
crusted earth with a brightness seldom seen in that season of 
“ melancholy days.” But more cheering than autumn’s rare sun- 
beam to the roused spirit of the clansmen — was the snow-white 
flag so proudly floating from the castle-keep with the Red Hand 
of the O’Neills-emblazoned on its centre. That time-honored ban- 
ner was ever a sign of hope to the tribes of Ulster, but that gene- 
ration had never before seen it flung in defiance to the breeze. 
Now as band after band arrived, it was the first object on which 
their eyes rested, and the joyful “ Lamh dearg aboo /” echoed far 
over hill and valley, at every fresh recognition of the well-loved 
ensign — and the stalwart head of the O’Neills, “ Stout Phelim,” as 
the clansmen loved to call him, stood just without his courtyard 
gate, surveying with a proud and swelling heart the ever-increas- 


TflE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 45 

!ng multitude from which ho was to form an army of offence and 
defence. Near and around him stood some half dozen of the 
principal gentlemen who had already arrived, all habited like 
himself in the Celtic garb, with the addition of a green scarf en- 
circling the waist, and hanging almost to the knee in graceful 
folds. Tirlogh O’Neill was not amongst this group, but his burly 
form might be seen bustling here and there amongst the clans- 
men, his red face glowing with excitement, as he grasped the 
hand of friend and neighbor, and welcomed each with exuberant 
glee. 

Every moment some fresh arrival called forth a shout of wel- 
come, and as chieftain after chieftain joined the group in the 
shadow of the old gatew^ay, the air rang with his proper war-cry, 
caught up from mouth to mouth by way of welcome. Only por- 
tions of the different clans, however, followed those leaders to the 
muster, the others remaining for the present with the Tanist, or 
chief man on their own soil, to secure as many of the strong 
places as possible, and take what spoils they could from the 
enemy. But long before the sun began to decline there was 
hardly a clan that had not sent its quota to swell Sir Phelim’s 
army. O’Reillys w'ere there from far Breffni, McMahons from 
Uriel, headed by the gallant Eman, stout Maguiret. from tlio 
lake* shore, O’Cahans from the hills of Derry, O’Hanlans frem 
the plains of Ardmacha, and tall IMcKennas from the song-famed 
“ Green woods of Truagh,” but as yet the banner of Magennis 
was nowhere to be seen, the men of Iveagh were still wanting. 
It Avas just when their tardiness was beginning to be noticed that 
a solitary horseman was seen spurring swiftly over the waste from 
the western country. Coming near he was quickly recognized 
as a follower of Magennis, but the anxious inquiries addressed 
to him as he sped his way towards the castle-gate were all met 
by the single question of “ Where may Sir Phelim O’Neill be 
ft)und V’ Once in the chieftain’s presence, he was not slow in 
delivering his message : 

“ The Magennis greets you well, Sir Phelim, and sends you 

* Lough Emo, around whose broad bosom lay tho ancient domo.uig 
of the Maguires. 


40 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


♦ 

word by me, that if he and his are backward in showing them- 
selves here, it is because they were iwt idle all day at home — 
the men of Iveagh were up betimes this morning, and have 
taken Newry from the enemy !” 

It was then that the shout of “ Magennis for ever !” went 
up into the air from thousands of manly voices, and the wild 
war-chorus had not yet died away amongst the neighboring 
liills, when Sir Phelim gave the word : Let us march to Dun- 
gannon — that and Charlemont shall be ours before to-morrow’s 
sun sets !” And so they were. Stout Phelim kept his word. 




THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


47 


CHAPTER IV. 

" Amid their joyous merriment, a cloud sails slowly o’er the son ! 

They start up as the shadow falls ; they look ; it loometh dreadly dun ; 
And tho’, not e’en the slightest leaf is by the slumbering breezes stirr’d, 
Advancing bodefully afar a Pyramid of gloom appear’d !” 

“ If it feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge !” 

Shakspe are’s Merchant of Venice. 

On that memorable night when “the beacon of war” was 
flaming in triumphal brightness on the hills of Ulster, and a 
whole province awoke into life, and the activity which springs 
from sudden hope, while the chieftains of the north were exulting 
in the gushing enthusiasm of the people, how did it fare with 
their equally-devoted friends in Dublin 1 O’Moore, and Maguire, 
and McMahon were all there in person to direct and carry out 
the hazardous design — the success of which would be almost a 
guarantee for the ultimate triumph of their cause. They were 
well acquainted with the state of affairs in the Castle, and knew 
that skill and caution more than force were required for its cap- 
ture. They had, therefore, wisely abstained from making their 
intention kno^vn within the city, except to the few gentlemen whose 
honor and patriotism they had had too many and convincing 
proofs to doubt. Their plan was well devised, and promised fair 
for success. A hundred chosen men were to enter the city by 
ten different gates on the following day, which, being market- 
day, the ingress or presence of so small a number would attract 
no attention. While the citizens were engaged about their market- 
business the all but unguarded gates of the old fortress were to 
be taken by the several small parties appointed for the task, 
under the leadership of the chieftains already named, with Colonel 


48 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Plimket and Colonel O’Byrne. Arms were secretly provided, 
and hid away in safe places ready for use. 

The leaders of the enterprise had all supped together at Lord 
Maguire’s lodgings in Castle street, and although each one strove 
hard to appear gay, or, at least, easy in mind, still the effort was 
too visible, and the attempt was, consequently, unsuccessful. It 
was hard for men with such a perilous step before them to drown 
the thought of the coming morrow, with all its dread possibilities, 
in the sense of present enjoyment. Failure was not to be thought 
of— the thought would have been too dreadful — success they did 
and would anticipate, rejecting with scorn all the chances that 
lay against them, with a spirit worthy their heroic blood, and the 
noble cause in which they had embarked, suppressing, as it rose 
within them, every thought of the personal danger to be incurred. 
Yet, even in that final hour, when their daring scheme was draw- 
ing to its completion, and all had girded their loins with strength 
and courage for the neck-or-nothing venture, the distinctive fea- 
tures of their respective characters were broadly marked and 
clearly visible. O’Moore was still calm and collected, earnest, 
firm, and full of that high-souled confidence which springs from 
a consciousness of innate resources and capacities yet unde- 
veloped, together with a strong conviction of supernatural aid and 
assistance. Maguire, on the other hand, though apparently de- 
voted heart and soul to the success of the cause which he stood 
pledged to advance by every means in his power, still show’ed 
symptoms, involuntary on his part, of a nervous anxiety as to the 
result, (shrinking, as it were, from the approach of actual peril,) 
which was little in keeping with his usual character. Men were 
wont to speak of Lord Maguire as a young nobleman who lacked 
prudence and was now'ays given to calculation, who, in short, had 
suSered a large portion of his patrimony to slip through his 
fingers, because and by reason of his reckless habits. It was 
passing strange; and the bold brave chieftain of Uriel, who had 
known Maguire from earliest boyhood, found it hard to believe 
him the same man, or to repress the words of contemptuous sur- 
prise which ever and anon rose to his lips as he marked the un- 
wonted paleness, not to say agitation, of his friend from Fer- 
managh. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


49 


O’Byrne, a tall, broad-sliouldered mountaineer, of some thirty 
odd years, with a frank and cheerful countenance, hale, hearty, 
and good-natured, was the very beau-ideal of a dashing, daring, 
high-handed soldier, little disposed to harm others without spe- 
cial good cause, and just as little likely to bear wrong or insult 
tamely. A genuine Milesian was Hugh O’Byrne, proud yet not 
stern, brave even to rashness, seldom pausing to calculate results, 
warm and impulsive in all his feelings, somewhat apt, at t.'mes, to 
give offence by over-free speech, yet always willing to make 
reparation when conscience or good sense convinced him of hav- 
ing erred. Independent of the manifold wrongs sustained by his 
own family at the hands of robber-rulers, O’Byrne’s generous 
heart bled for the woes of all his nation, and if his was not the 
fierce, insatiable ardor wherewith Phelim O’Neill threw himself 
into the struggle, his hostility to the foreign oppressors was none the 
less strong or determined. Take him for all in all, O’Byrne was 
a fair specimen of an Irish chieftain of that day, high-spirited, 
straightforward, honest and patriotic, with a certain dash of 
chivalry in his composition that served to soften and refine his 
outward bearing, especially in the presence of ladies. He, too, 
had noticed the, to him, unaccountable depression of Maguire, 
but, unlike McMahon, he was touched by a sadness with which 
he yet could not sympathize — his own heart revelled in the 
thought that the work of liberation for the country and the peo- 
ple was so soon to commence, and that he was to aid in striking 
the first blow. He had an intuitive sense of delicacy, however, 
that prevented him from making any allusion to a feeling which 
he plainly saw was involuntary, and he more than once restrained 
McMahon by a look or a sign when that gentleman seemed dis- 
posed to address his lordship in terms more candid than polite. 

As for Plunket, he sat looking from one to the other through 
half closed eye-lids, a singularly humorous smile on his thin fea- 
tures, mingled at times with the slightest possible expression of 
contempt, for Richard Plunket, although a patriot at heart, and, 
moreover, a zealous Catholic, was still a Norman by descent, 
and as such looked down upon “ the mere Irish” with a sense of 
superiority which in his case, however, was good-natured and 
rather patronizing than otherwise. Still he had quite enough of 
3a 


50 


THE CONFEDERATE CIUEFTAINS. 


} 


Norman superciliousness to enjoy in a sly way what he justly 
termed “ the old Milesian crustiness and thin skin” of his com- 
panions. Notwithstanding all that, Richard Plunket was a man 
of honor and probity, clear-headed and far-seeing, who deserved 
well of his countrymen as being the first man of English blood 
who joined the ranks of the native Irish in that memorable strug- 
gle for freedom. His first adhesion was owing to the influence of 
O’Moore, between whom and himself a strong and sincere friend- 
ship had been growing for years. Connected by family ties, and 
pretty nearly of the same age — they had been boys together, and 
in their case, at least, the distinction of races was obliterated, and 
the feuds of past times voluntarily forgotten. The high-bred 
descendant of the princes of Leix had many friends within the 
English Pale, but none so true, so steadfast as Richard Plunket. 

The long evening passed away, the stilly night wore on 
apace, and still - the party lingered as if loath to separate, 
when the measured tread of armed men was heard echoing 


through the deserted street, — near and nearer the sound came, 
and some of the gentlemen, becoming alarmed, rushed to extin- 
guish the lamp. Maguire, smiling at their fears, pointed to the 
time-piece on the wall, which was just on the stroke of ten.* 

“ It is the city watch, my friends ! — do but keep quiet, and they 
will pass on !” 

The room-door opened softly, and a lank, thin-visaged individ- 
ual in a bob-wig protruded his head cautiously through the aper- 
ture. The leaden eyes fixed themselves on Maguire’s face and 
there they rested. 

“ Sdeath, man !” cried his lordship, half angrily ; “what’s amiss 
that you look so frightened T’ 

“ My lord, it’s Sheritf Woodcock that wants to know why there 
be lights in ray house at such an untimely hour ” 

“ Sheriff Woodcock !” cried Maguire with a start; “ wherefore 
comes he here V' 


* It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that ten o’clock was 
as far in the night in the seventeenth century as ticelve is in the nine- 
teenth. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


51 


“ That I know not,” replied Nevil the surgeon, “ but he seems 

marvellously curious to know who we have within ” 

“ Let him travel farther in quest of knowledge, the hangman !” 
said McMahon in a voice so loud as to excite the apprehensions 
even of O’Moore, who admonished him by signs to keep quiet. 

“ Nay, my very good sir,” quoth Nevil, “ we may not answer 
law-officers in that fashion — at least here in the city. I told 
him it was only the Lord Maguire making merry with some 
noble gentlemen ” 

“ You did !” exclaimed Maguire, starting from his seat with a 
flushed and changing countenance. “ You told him so, Nevil ]” 
“ Surely I did, but be not wrothful, my good lord — I told him 
you were all civil, well-behaved gentlemen, and that I would 
answer for your peaceable ways, though I couldn’t deny but what 
you were from the Irish country, and come of the old blood, all 

excepting Master Plunket ” 

Some of the company laughed, but others, seeing more in the 
affair than the ordinary vigilance of the night-watch, w^ere in 
more humor to give the pragmatical chirurgeon an occasion to 
test his skill on his own bones, than to relish the quaintness of 
his words or the oddity of his demeanor. 

“ Let us throw him out to his sheriffship as a love-token !” 
said one. 

“ Nay, rather, let us tie him to the pump near at hand,” said 

another, “ till he learns to keep his tongue from wagging ” 

“ Jest an’ you will at my poor expense, noble sirs,” said Nevil 
with sly emphasis, “ but were it not for my promise that you should 
all be in your beds within the space of half an hour you might 
have been taking the air by this time in company with the- worship- 
ful Sheriff Woodcock — I pray ye all to mark well my words, and 
straightway betake yourselves to your proper lodgings, ere your 
laughter be turned another way. Now do as you list, and blame 
not Peter Nevil, if evil befall ye !” 

The bob-wig vanished, the door closed, but somehow the 
mirth of tlie company had departed with Peter, and after a short 
and whispered consultation it was agreed that Nevil’s warning w’as 
not to be slighted, inasmuch as none of them had any particular. 


52 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


reason at that particular time for desiring to make the acquaint- 
ance of the worshipful Woodcock. 

“ They be birds of ill omen in this quarter,” observed Plunket, 
who could never resist the temptation to give utterance to what 
he considered a good thing; “ any cock were better than a w^oocZ- 
cock here within the city limits !” 

“ Until such time as we have a cage ready for him in Birming- 
ham Tower, added Roger O’Moore, with his expressive smile. 

This allusion was well-timed, and served to restore a portion of 
the cheerfulness so lately lost. The high hopes, the daring con- 
ceptions cherished so long, and for one short moment partially 
dimmed, darted again into life and glowing fervor at the mention 
of the hated prison, the Irish Bastile, where so many of the na 
tion’s noblest and best had languished, suffered — and died. 

■ “ Let us hence to our lodgings, friends and comrades,” said 
O’Byrne, gayly, as he tightened his leathern belt around him and 
threw Ms cloak over his shoulders ; “we have glorious work in 
hand for the morrow — nay, our noble host, ask us not to dip 
farther into that charmed bowl — we need steady hands, ay ! and 
cool heads for the task before us ” 

“ You say truly, colonel,” said O’Moore, with an approving 
nod ; “ our game is a bold one, and the stakes are fearfully high, 
but if well played, it will give back the heart of Ireland to its 
dissevered members, and set the life-blood flowing once again 
from end to end of the old land. Your hand, my lord ! — ■ 
McMahon, yours ! — the touch of an Ulsterman’s hand sets my 
pulses throbbing this night, when I bethink me of what is passing 
in that north country by this — no, not by this — ” he added, 
glancing at the time-piece, which barely indicated the tenth hour 
— “ no, not by this — at midnight the signal-fires are to blaze on 
northern hills — Fermanagh and Monaghan are busy scenes by 
now — and the O’Reillys are stirring in Breffny, and the men 
of Tyr-Owen are nob idle — St. Bridget! an’ we were there at this 
hour, to see those bold clansmen throwing off their shackles ” 

* The principal tower of Dublin Castle, in troublous times, used 
as a State-prison. This portion of the edifice was, therefore, as may 
well be supposed, peculiarly obnoxiouc to the native Irish. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


53 


“ No need to go so far for a sight, Roger,” said his friend Plun- 
ket ; “ before the morrow’s sun sets behind our own Ben-Edir, we 

may see the green flag waving over Dublin Castle ” 

“d/ay /” repeated the flery Wicklow-man ; “ say rather we 
shall and must ” 

“ If God so wills it, O’Byrne,” rejoined Plunket. 

“ Oh, surely, surely — that is understood, but ” 

“ But nothing is certain,” put in Maguire, in alow, earnest tone, 
as he accompanied his friends to the stair-head ; “if our eyes see 
not the sight you mention, friends and loyal gentlemen, others 

whom we wot of will see us in doleful plight ” 

“ Hear the raven croak !” said McMahon with good-humored 
irony ; “ where learned you that dismal note, Connor 1 — ^methinks 
it was not by Erne’s banks or in those old Fermanagh woods 

where you and I chased the fallow deer so oft together ” 

Maguire’s answer was prevented by O’Moore, who laid a hand 
on the arm of each of the northern chieftains as they stood to- 
gether. “ Enough for the present,” said he, in a low, impressive 
voice, his eyes glistening with strange brightness through the dim 
light of the lampless lobby, “ to-night our friends in the north 
will stand on their own soil as freemen — midnight is their hour 
of freedom— shall not to-morrow’s noon be ours 1” 

Every voice answered in the affirmative, and each clasped the 
other’s hand with the energy of determination ; then one by one 
Maguire’s guests departed and went their several ways, unnoticed 
in the darkness of the narrow streets, as they confidently believed. 

Their host, left alone, turned moodily back into the room they 
had left, muttering to himself : “ Midnight ! — it is a dreary hour 
for those who fear — ^but what should I fear more than the others 1 
— fear ! it is an ill-word — no, I do not fear — wherefore should 
1 1 Saints above ! who is here 1” 

j “ Only a poor brother of the Order of St. Francis !” said a 
meek voice from the depth of a high steeple hood, and a figure, 
which had taken possession of a chair in front of the now expir- 
ing fire, rose to its feet and slowly, very slowly, turned towards 
the interrogator a pale emaciated countenance, looking ghastly 
and spirit-like in the deep shade of the hood. 

“But how came you hereP’ stammered Maguire, strangely 


54 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


agitated ; “ what is your business with me — speak, friar ! I charge 
you speak !” 

“ There be danger abroad,” said the friar with solemn empharfs, 
in a low muffled voice ; “ I know a noble quarry for which a pit- 
fall is in waiting, an’ it move many paces from where it stands.” 

“ In God’s name, speak plainly,” said. Maguire, with increasing 
agitation. 

“ Leave this house, an’ you love your life,” said the Capuchin, 
with a warning motion of the finger ; “ lose not a moment, or it 
may, even now, be late !” 

“ Friar'”’ said Maguire, solemnly, “ I know you not, and I 
marvel much at the nature of your speech. Wherefore should 1 
fly as a felon T’ 

“ As a felon you will be judged, full soon, an’ you do not a 
friend’s bidding !” 

“ But what — what is the danger I” 

“ The Sheriff has set a watch on this house — you know best in 
how far that may concern you. Heaven grant you may even 
now escape ; and should ill befal you, Connor Maguire, there bo 
those within the city walls whom the news will sore afflict !” 

Maguire started and fixed his eye on the haggard face before 
him — much of its character he might not see. 

“ Stranger, I ieill do your bidding — ^but tell me first, who they 
be that sent you hither, at the risk of your own life V’ 

A scornful smile flitted over the ghostly visage. “ I care not, 
an’ I save yours — ^that is — a poor Capuchin’s life is of small value 
weighed against the Lord Maguire’s — ^but why tarry so long — give 
me but one Avord of kindness — gratitude for those who take so 
deep an interest in your welfare, and I lead you hence by a 
secret way !” 

“ Now, out upon you. Capuchin !” Maguire exclaimed, with a 
vehemence as sudden as unaccountable ; “you a priest of God’s 
Church, and holding communion with — ^nay, I name no names, 
but say to those whom it concerns, that what I said before I say 
now again — ^my mind is still the same on the matter they and I 
wot of — and say further from me that Connor Maguire would not 
take the boon of life at such hands ” 

“ This is your final answer,” said the friar, very, vory calmly. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


55 


“ It is, and let me tell you, father, that I am much surprised, 
and no httle afflicted to see a man of your holy state herding 
with like company, and doing thoir will, moreover, in slavish 
fashion ! ” 

It is well,” said the pretematurally calm voice from beneath 
the hood ; “I marvel not that the lofty feeling of gratitude which 
cost at your feet a heart which the proudest and noblest have 
sought in vain, should be a stranger to your flinty bosom — it was 
said of old that nothing good could come out of Galilee — fool — 
fool that I was to look for good where good never yet was 
found. But the dream is past — ay ! and for ever — and love — ” 
the voice ceased a moment — a low, strange sound like hys- 
teric laughter was heard — then was added, in a hissing tone, the 
figure approaching the astonished nobleman till it placed itself 
within a few feet of where he stood, “ love will be hencefor- 
ward hate — ay ! hate — stay or go now — as you will — the toils 
are around you, go where you may— and I pray the just and 
righteous God that the doom of traitors may fall soon and sud- 
denly on all concerned in your foul plot ! — should that thing 
come to pass, Connor Maguire ! you will think of — the Capu- 
chin friar — ha! ha! ha!” 

A name was on Maguire’s lips when he could command his 
voice to utter a sound, but whatever he might have purposed to 
say, in the overwhelming surprise of the moment, was now too late 
to reach the ear of the strange visitor — gliding through the half 
open door he had vanished in the obscurity of the passage without. 

At first, the whole seemed to Maguire like a hideous dream, 
and, hastily pouring out a goblet of wine, he swallowed it at a 
draught, hoping that its generous warmth might overcome the 
dreary chillness which was creeping over him, but aU in vain — 
nor wine, nor reason, could dispel the gloomy impression left on 
his mind by the parting words of the strange being whose iden- 
tity ho was at no loss to establish, any more than he could rea- 
sonably doubt of the dread reality of what he had seen and heard. 

In the silence and loneliness of the place — for no sound was 
heard within the house — Maguire could not divest himself of the 
thought that ho was surrounded by danger — his morbid ima- 
gination peopled the very air with hostile creatures — spies, it 


56 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


might be, and from Nevil’s manner, during his brief appearance, 
his suspicions settled on him. He was alone, without any friend 
to consult, and the dark presentiment within him, had other 
motives been wanting, was, to a mind like his, sufficient to make 
him decide on some step that might possibly avert the imminent 
peril in which he began to fancy himself, though of its exact 
nature he could form no idea. Strangely enough, he forgot what 
his mysterious visitor had said, that there was a watch set on the 
house, and beheving that a change of quarters might ensure his 
safety till morning light — or even till the hour appointed for the 
great attempt — he softly made his way down the dark stair-case, 
and, taking the key from its usual place, let himself into the 
street, without any clear or definite idea as to whither he should 
steer his course. Not unseen of Sheriff W oodcock’s understrapper 
walked Connor Maguire through the shades of night. From 
under the archway which had sheltered his precious body, stepped 
forth John Steeples, and after the Irish lord paced he at safe and 
respectful distance, anxious, no doubt, to see him safely and 
snugly housed again for the comfort and satisfacticm of his wor- 
shipful principal . Now had Master W oodcock any definite or special 
charge against Lord Maguire or his late guests, it would have saved 
honest John Steeples some trouble, for nothing would have been 
easier than to procure a few of his comrades and “ grab them” on 
the spot, but, unluckily, no instructions had been issued for their 
arrest, they were only suspected in a general way, as it were, and 
hence the necessity for John Steeples’ continued surveiUcmce, 
without any further steps in aggression. So on walked Lord 
Maguire, and on followed John Steeples, past the old Church of 
St. Nicholas, do^vn through Christchurch Lane, past the dark 
dead walls of the old Cathedral, under the frowning arch of Or- 
mond’s Gate, and so on into Cook street, where the young noble- 
.man w'as soon lost to John’s sight, but not before the sharp eyes 
of the latter had marked the humble domicile into which three 
gentle knocks had gained him admission. Having taken due 
note of the house, John Steeples moved his bulky corpus with 
quickened paces towards the place where he knew his employer 
was likely to be found in snug quarters that cold raw night. 

While the chieftain of Fermanagh was taking his lonely way 


THE CONFEDEEATE CHIEFTAINS. 


57 


through the upper streets of the old city, he little dreamed of 
what was passing by the water side in one of the mansions on 
Merchant’s Quay.* Within the last two hours there had been 
quite a commotion amongst the inmates of the house, from the 
dark-browed, sinister-looking personage enveloped in ample robes 
of grave official character, whose air and bearing expressed the 
consciousness of high authority, to the humblest lackey who ren- 
dered service to the great man’s great man. Alone in solemn 
state the master of the mansion paced a spacious chamber to and 
fro, muttering to himself dark and incoherent sentences, and 
chuckling with strange mirth at times the while he waited with 
nervous impatience for some intelligence which was evidently 
delayed too long for his liking. Every now and then he stopped 
and listened, then rang a hand-bell, which lay on a large table in 
the centre of the room, covered with crimson cloth, and strode to 
the door to meet the tidings half way, but it was long before any 
came. Always to his question of “ Any of them come yet I” 
the same unsatisfactory answer was returned. A fierce impreca- 
tion, spoken withal in godly phrase, was on the man’s lips, in 
anticipation of a like reply to his last imperious query, when the 
serving man hastily put in : “ There’s one waiting without to 
see your lordship’s honor.” 

“ Who is it, sirrah 'I Not one of the lords-councillors surely 7” 

‘ Not so, my lord, it seems to me that the man is habited like 
the devil’s birds named by the recusants, friars or something of 
the kind!” 

A sudden change passed over the heavy, puritanical features 
of Sir William Parsons, for he it was. “ Admit him quickly.” 

* To those who know anything of the Dublin of our day it will seem 
strange to hoar of aristocratic dwellings on the “ Quays,” and yet 
they were as numerous there two hundred years ago — perhaps more 
numerous — than the commercial buildings. It is now hardly credible 
that some of the first legal functionaries and literary celebrities of 
those days, together with many distinguished members of the gentry 
and even the nobility, had their town dwellings in Bridge street. Wine- 
tavern street, and all around that neighborhood, which seems to have 
been quite a fashionable locality at that time. 

3 * 


58 


THE CONFEDERATE ‘CHIEFTAINS. 


The servant vanished. “ Friars ! ay ! he must needs ho one of 
our own friars — ha ! ha ! — godly men they be, too, for all the 
heathenish fashion of their garments ! — .ay ! so I thought,” as the 
monk of St. Francis glided in, cautiously closed the door after 
him, and advanced to the very centre of the room. 

“How is tins'?” cried the Lord Justice; “fellow, you are a 
stranger — why enter here in that garb V' 

“ Ha ! ha !” laughed the monk, “ as though such mummers 
never appeared in this most godly house ! Fear not, however, 
Sir William Parsons, I be no enemy for all my frieze robe. I 
came hither with good intent, as you will presently see — mo- 
ments are precious^ You received certain depositions this night 
from one Owen O’Conolly, a servant of Sir John Clotworthy.” 

“ Surely I did,” said Parsons, eyeing the other as closely as 
the deep hood permitted ; “ know you aught appertaining to that 
matter — an’ you do, good payment will not be wanting ” 

“ Your gold I seek ncft, Sir William Parsons,” said the monk 
sternly, “ but there be those amongst these Komish traitors whom 
I would see brought to justice, and that fuU speedily — an’ you 
wait till morning light, you will stand but poor chance of taking 
them.” 

“ But how — where can we come at them now !” 

“Leave that to Sheriff Woodcock — he knows ere now where 
the conspirators lie hidden.” 

“ So there is a plot,” said Parsons musingly. 

“ Can you doubt it when you have O’ConoUy’s sworn evidence 
of the fact '?” 

There was a keen touch of irony in this question which the 
Lord Justice well understood, and he bristled up accordingly. 

“ Nay, nay. Sir William,” said the monk in a tone half jeering, 
half soothing ; “ what matters it to you or me that your deponent be 
a drunken serving-man — ^his deposition is none the less clear 
— it will serve your turn and mine, too — it wiU help to build up 

your fortune, and it will give the balm of revenge to my heart 

revenge I— truly— but this is folly— Sir WUliam Parsons! 

you have the germ of a great rebellion between your fingers 

crush it, I tell you ! crush the poisonous growth ere it crush and 
destroy you — all ” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


59 


The Lord Justice had been listening in silent wonder to the 
vehement and most bitter speech of the friar, but at the last words 
uttered in a somewhat softer tone, he started and fixed his eyes 
anew on the mysterious personage before him, 

“ Surely I have heard that voice ere now — say, am I right T’ 

“ I came not hither to answer questions of that nature,” said 
the monk haughtily, “ but to refresh your lordship’s memory con- 
cerning the traitorous doings of Connor Maguire, Costelloe 
McMahon, and others of their associates. You have heard that 
to-morrow's morn is fixed for the execution of their plot — look to 

it now, or the morrow’s eve may fimd you a headless man ” 

“You are right, good monk — if monk you be ” 

“ Good me no goods — ^nor monk nor priest am I — God forbid I 
were ” 

“ Well ! let us not quarrel on that head,” said Parsons in no 
small trepidation ; “ an’ you think there is real danger, friend ! I 
will repair to the house of my honorable colleague. Sir John 
Borlase, and there await the assembling of the Council — being 

without the walls, it may be safer 

“ As you will,” said the stern voice from the hood, “ but what 
you do, do it quickly !” The monk was gone ere Parsons could 
summon a servant to see him out. The Lord Justice, happily for 
his own peace, 'heard not the malicious laugh which echoed 
through the vaulted halls below as the Capuchin roused the 
porter from hiB nap to give him egress. 

A little while after, and Sir William Parsons was engaged in 
deep consultation at the house of Sir John Borlase, in College 
Green,’’' with that functionary and some three or four members of 
the Privy Council, over the sworn depositions of the drunken 
servant, O’Conolly, who was secured and brought back for 
further examination. 

At midnight, Lord Maguire was arrestedf at the house of hia 

* College Green was then outside the city limits, 
t To commemorate the capture of Lord Maguire, the bells of St. 
Audeon’s— in which parish it took place— were rung at midnight on 
the 22d— 23d October of every succeeding year. This custom is said 
to have been continued down till the year of Emancipation, 1829. 


60 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


tailor in Cook street, just, as he bitterly thought, when the hills 
and dales of Fermanagh were blazing with the signal-fires of 
freedom, and his faithful clansmen were eagerly looking forward 
to news of victory and noble exploits from their absent chief. 
As the guard dragged him roughly along in the direction of the 
prison, a voice, which the unhappy nobleman well knew, addressed 
him in mocking tones from a deep archway : “ My benison on 
thy head, Connor Maguire — henedicUe, my son !” The chief- 
tain shuddered, but made no answer. 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


G1 


, CHAPTER V. 

“Such which breaks the sides of loyalty, and almost appears in loud 
rebellion.” Shakspbare’s Henry VIII. 

“Then up starts the lord of Rathgogan, and fierce is the flash of his eye, 
As he glares on the dark brows around him with bearing defiant ahd 
high.” Ballad of “ Sir Domnall.” 

The Lords Justices and the Council passed a sleepless night 
at the house of Sir John Borlase, and the morning light found 
them still in solemn conclave, with O’Conolly’s depositions be- 
fore them. The master of the house, old and somewhat inert by 
nature, lay fast asleep in an^easy chair, oblivious of plots, massa- 
cres and conflagrations, nay, even of fines and confiscations, as 
the discordant music of his nasal organ from time to time boro 
witness, to the no small annoyance of the other “ grave and re- 
verend seigniors” who were still on duty, and wide awake. Of 
these some were disposed to make merry over the whole affair, 
regarding O’Conolly’s evidence as a capital joke. Of this num- 
ber was Sir Robert Meredith, the Lord High Chancellor, a man 
of prudence and sagacity, if possessed of no higher quality. He 
had from the first ridiculed the idea of arresting a peer of parlia- 
ment on the sole testimony of a low-born varlet who, from drunk- 
enness, could hardly make himself intelligible. When Sir Robert 
joined the council on the previous night ho did not attempt to 
conceal his surprise on finding that such depositions were being 
acted upon in a matter of such moment, w^hile the “ scurvy fellow,” 
as he styled him, who gave the information, had not even been 
detained as security for the truth of his allegations. Parsons, who 
had received the depositions, and also discharged O’Conolly on 
his sole responsibility, was somewhat nettled by the Chancellor’s 
stinging comments on the proceeding, but seeing, at the samo 


62 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


time, the utility of having his informant at hand, he immediately 
sent messengers in pursuit of him all through the city. When 
the fellow was at length secured and conveyed to the mansion on 
College Green, Sir Kobert was not the only one who was moved 
to mirth, for the witness, being brought before the Council, was 
found wholly incapable of answering any question put to him. 
He had been taken from the hands of the watchmen who wero 
about consigning him to the Black Bog,* and, when introduced 
to the august presence of the nation’s rulers, was unable to stand 
without support. Still there was an attempt made by some of 
the Lords, at the suggestion of Parsons, to examine him. His 
deposition on the preceding evening was read over to him ; ho 
listened with drunken gravity, steadying himself on his feet by 
the aid of the two servants who had effected his capture. Being 
asked at the conclusion of the documentary reading, whether 
what he had heard read was his real evidence, he asseverated 
with a vulgar imprecation on his soul that it was true, every 
word of it. 

“ And you spent the early part of tlie evening at the Lion Ta- 
vern in street drinking beer with Mr. Costelloe McMahon T’ 

“ I’ faith I did, your honor’s lordship, and if any noble gentle- 
man here wants a can of prime quality, if he finds not the beer 
in that same Lion Tavern as good as any in town, let him call 
me a liar — hie — hie!” 

“ A likely story truly,” observed Meredith aside to Sir Thomas 
Kotherham, “ that a gentleman of McMahon’s standing made a 
pot-companion of that varlet.” 

Sir Thomas smiled his incredulity, but being a friend and pro-- 
tege of Parsons, thought proper to make a show of believing the 
ridiculous statement. Prefacing his question with a small judi- 
cial cough, he addressed himself to the witness : 


* The Black Bog was the lowest of the city prisons in those days, its 
dungeon corresponding to the “Black Hole” of modern towns and 
cities. It had formerly been a castellated private mansion, known in 
Bublin as “Browne’s Castle,” and being subsequently converted into 
an inn, received its name of the “ Black Bog” from the innkeeper’s 
sign of a mastiff or large dog. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


63 


“And you came up to Dublin, Mr. O’Conolly, on a written 
invitation from this McMahon to meet him, Lord Maguire, and 
other gentlemen for the purpose of consulting anent this treason- 
able plot 

“ I said not that, did 1 1 — (hiccup) — I wrote to Mr. McMahon — 

“Which of them — there are two brothers, you know V* 

“ I know — Joseph — Joseph and— Tim— — surely there is.” • 

The members of the Council looked at each other, and Sir 
William Parsons, detecting a smile on certain of their visages, 
hastened to interpose : 

“ You mistake, Mr. O’Conolly, — I think the names are Costel- 
loe and Art ” 

“ Surely, my lord, surely — Costelloe and Art — ^it be all the 
same 

“ Which of them wrote to you 

“ Cossloe, I think — ^no, it was the other ” 

“ And he invited you to go to his house on this business ” 

“Just so, my lord.” 

“ Nay, Sir William Parsons,” said a nobleman present, speak- 
ing for the first time, “ it is sheer folly for this honorable body 
to sit here listening to such evidence — the man is drunk — that is 
clear — he knows not what he says, and I, for one, do protest 
against receiving his information — until such tune, at least, as 
he be sober ” 

“Who says I’m not sober 1” cried O’ConoUy, setting his arms 
a-kimbo. 

“ Silefice, good fellow !” said the clerk of the Council. 

“ Remove him !” said Sir Robert Meredith, “ his presence here 
is an insult to the Council.” 

“ Sir Robert Meredith ! you shall answer for this,” said Par- 
sons doggedly, his coarse dark features swelling with rage and 
vexation ; “ this be no time for cavilling at the evidence of loyal 
men ” 

“ I am a loyal man,” broke in O’Conolly, “ an’ your lordship 
gives me a can of that same beer I told you of. I’ll drink confu- 
sion to all Popish— Popish traitoi-s (hiccup !) — I will, before your 
eyes — hurrah !— Parsons and Borlase for ever ! What the puck ! 
—this head of mine is playing the d ^1 with me !— your hand, 


C4 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


old fellow !” — and making a grab at something to hold by, he 
caught Sir William Parsons by the nose, that dignitary of the 
State having unluckily approached him at the moment for pur- 
poses of general admonition. A roar of laughter from his breth- 
ren of the Council exasperated the already irritated Justice, but 
as he did not choose to make an open show of resentment 
towards the real offenders, he discharged a portion, at least, of 
his venom on the unlucky witness, ordering him to be placed in 
close confinement until the effects of his night’s carousal had 
passed away and he could speak like a Christian man. 

“ And that’s what I’ll do, your lordship (hie ! — hie !)— after I 
get a sleep. I’ll tell you all as true as the Gospel, and we’ll hang 
them all, Sir William, ay ! every mother’s son of the rascally Pa- 
pists — I had a brace of them for father and mother, but never 
mind that — I’m all right myself— I am— that is, I will be, when 
I get paid for this job — hie ! hie ! hiccup !” 

In the midst of this harangue, the witness was dragged from 
the presence, vociferating in smothered accents his staunch ad- 
herence to loyal principles. 

Before the other members of the Council had succeeded in 
smoothing away the wrinkles from the lowering brow of Parsons, 
a violent knocking at the gate without gave rise to serious alarm 
amongst the deliberative body. Even Borlase awoke with a 
grunt, and asked what was the matter. 

“ It is well an’ the rebels be not upon us,” said Parsons ; “ it 
were a just judgment to some among us, an’ the Lord delivered 
us unto them ” • 

The door opened, and a tall, dark-visaged, soldierly man made 
his appearance, wrapped in a military riding-cloak. Even before 
his keen eye had run over all the noblemen and gentlemen pre- 
sent, a chorus of gratulation welcomed the new-comer as Sir 
Francis Willoughby, all the way from Galway, of which fort he 
was governor. He had ridden post-haste to Dublin at the urgent 
request of Sir William Parsons, to assist in the deliberations of 
the Council on this momentous occasion, and his appearance at 
that juncture was most welcome to the Puritanical members of 
the body, for his military experience and known hatred of the Pa- 
pists, together with much real or supposed ability, gave him a 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. G5 

certain influence in their councils. Even those of the Council 
who were neither friends nor admirers of Sir Francis Willoughby 
were, on the present occasion, well pleased to see his stern visago 
rather than that of some wild Irish chieftain, with eyes of lire, 
all a-thirst for English blood. 

“ In the foul fiend’s name,” was Willoughby’s salutation ; “ what 
nay all this mean ? — I am summoned to town with all dispatch, 
and when I get to town, I find every gate locked and double 
locked against me.” 

“ Not against you, Sir Francis ! surely not against you,” said 
Parsons, eagerly advancing with a most deprecatory countenance. 

“ I tell you there was no admission for any one^^ repeated Sir 
Francis, roughly ; “ after much parleying with your halberdiers, 
through the key-hole, I got word of the Council’s whereabouts, 
and betook myself hither with all speed. I pray ye inform me, 
lords and gentlemen, wherefore all this commotion 1 — has the 
city, then, lost its wits, that it has turned itself inside out I” 

“ Nay, nay. Sir Francis ! be not wroth,” said Parsons in as 
soothing a tone as he could command ; “ the Papists are up in 
arms, they are within the city we know not in what strength.” 

“ And the honorable Council and the Lords Justices fearing for 
their precious lives have locked themselves out — ha ! ha ! ha ! — • 
i’ faith, a good joke ! — ^liere ye be in an unfortified house outside 
the walls, open to all the country round, and the enemy, as yo 
say, left in snug possession of the premises within — whoever be- 
fore heard of men locking themselves out lor safety !” And 
Sir Francis, albeit little given to mirth or merriment, threw him- 
self into a chair and laughed full heartily, regardless of the 
frowns and menacing looks of his brother councillors, who 
winced individually beneath his biting sarcasm. 

“ I rejoice,” said Meredith, “ to see the gallant Sir Francis 
Willoughby make so light of this matter — methinks it is over 
grave for jesting, seeing that a leading man amongst the Papists 
is already in custody, and other arrests are^iourly looked for.” 

“ I knew nought of that,” said Willoughby, “ but this I know, 
to wit, fjliat from Galway hither I have seen no signs of this 
mighty rebellion whereof ye speak. And yet methinks if thero 
wore any such movement on foot amongst the Irishry that coun- 


I 


C6 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

try would not lie still. There be as arrant Popish knaves where 
I come from, ay ! and in as great numbers, as you would find in 
any part of this island. An’ you take my advice, Sir William 
Parsons, you will move back to our old quarters bag and bag- 
gage ere the day be an hour older — for our own credit do this 
that our name and authority fall not into disrepute even amongst 
those who be well disposed — first of all, however, I would break 
my fast, an’ it please our honorable host ” 

“ Ay, surely,” cried Borlase, endeavoring to get rid of the 
drowsy god by a vigorous shake and a most energetic yawn ; “ ay, 
surely. Sir Francis, men do assuredly fight better and talk better 
when the stomach is in good condition, to wit, well supplied with 
wholesome food. I never prospered on anything I took in hands 
fasting — ” he had just reached for the hand-bell to summon the 
steward of the house, when bang at the outer gate came a new 
series of knocks, or rather blows, as of heavy sticks. 

“ There,” said Parsons, addressing Willoughby, half in fear half 
in exultation, “ what think you of that 1 — who be they that de- 
mand admission in such fashion as that'?”! 

“ That will I tell you full soon,” replied the stout soldier, as he 
made for the door, while Meredith and Rotherham approached 
one of the high narrow windows looking on the small court, hop- 
ing to discover by the help of the dawning light the cause of this 
new commotion. 

No one ventured, however, to follow Willoughby to the hall, 
and when, after a very brief absence, he again entered the room, 
his first words were anything but satisfactory. 

“The rebels, my Lords Justices ! the rebels are upon us!” 

“ The rebels ! — how say you. Sir Francis '? — surely — surely 
they have not attacked the house— why it would not stand an 
hour’s siege !” 

“ I know that. Sir John — I know it full well, but the dwelling 
is safe for this time — I see but one recusant on the premises, and 
he is in good hands ” 

“ How '? — who '?” 

“ Be not alarmed. Sir William — ^your fellows have taken another 
of these wasps — it was their truncheons that battered the gates 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


^7 


so lustily even now — are your lordships in readiness to examine 
the rascal, whose name I know not 

“ I say nay,” put in Borlase quickly ; “ let him e’en cool his 
heels till we have answered the demands of our several stomachs 
■ — ^I’ll warrant him not over anxious for the meeting ” 

This proposition was unanimously adopted, and the morning 
meal being happily announced at the moment, the two Lords 
J ustices and the five Privy Councillors proceeded, nothing loath, 
to the discussion of the good things awaiting their attention. 
This important affair took up the best part of an hour, during 
which time the Irish chieftain, the descendant of a lordly line, 
was left shivering on the stone bench in the fireless hall, whose 
low arched roof was dripping with damp, for Sir John Borlase 
grudged all expense which had not his own comfort for its im- 
mediate object, and hence a fire in the outer hall would have 
been a superfiuity. 

It were hard to describe the feelings of the prisoner during 
that dreary time of expectation, which, however, he turned to 
some account, for when at length he was summoned to the pre- 
sence of the Council, the stone walls of the vacated hall were 
found ornamented in strange fashion. Ghastly visages of tortured 
men, figures dangling from gibbets, and other such quaint and 
horrible devices were sketched on either side with a master hand 
and of life size.* This audacious act was duly stated to the wor- 
shipful assembly at the moment when Costelloe McMahon was 
ushered by the sheriff’s officers into the judicial chamber. Seven 
pairs of eyes were immediately turned on him, some in wrath, 
some in contempt, sbrne in mere curiosity, but the Tanist of 
Uriel shrank not from the darkest scowl of all, even that of Sir 
William Parsons. 

Drawing his short cloak around him, and shaking back the 
long curled locks from about his face, he walked to the foot of 
the Council-table with a step as light and as proud a mien as 
though he trod his native plains at the head of his martial clan. 
Ilis clear blue eye met in turn the searching glance of each of 

* This fact is historically true. It is strikingly illustrative of tho 
bold and reckless character of the bravo hut unfortunate McMahon. 


08 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


his judges, but the lid never drooped for a moment, nor did the 
spirit-light of that eye grow dim. 

“ Good faith, he were a gallant leader this,” muttered Wil- 
loughby to himself, as his soldier-glance scanned the fair propor- 
tions of the prisoner and marked his dauntless bearing, 

“ Wliat is this I hear, McMahon V’ said Parsons at length, as 
he disposed his clumsy members in the chair of presidential dig- 
nity at the upper end of the long table ; “ how came you so far 
to forget the respect due to this house as to disfigure the walls 
thereof with foul daubing V* 

“ Ask your fellows, rather, how it came that they did not see 
it done — methinks it was for them to keep watch on my evil 
propensities I” 

“ So please your lordships,” cried the three bailiffs in a breath, 
“ we did but go into the steward’s room near by to warm our 
hands, the which weie well nigh frozen !” 

“ Even so it was with mine,” said McMahon carelessly ; “ I 
found the vault over cold for my liking, and being, moreover, 
left to my own wits for company, I was moved to exercise my 
fingers in the delineation of certain pleasant fancies which came 
into my head.” 

“ An’ the churl had only clothed his unsightly criminals after 
the manner of his own barbarous tribe,” said Borlase, entering 
the room, after a critical inspection of the obnoxious images ; “ I 
might easier overlook the injury done me, but as I am a living 
man this day, they are clothed in decent English garb — ay 1 
every one of them !” 

While some of the Council turned aside to conceal a smile. 
Parsons again fixed his scathing glance on the prisoner, who was 
smiling too. “ This surely heightens the offence, McMahon ! 
The meaning of this bloody riddle we can all of us see ” 

“ It was my purpose that you should see it,” said McMahon 
haughtily ; “ men do say that Sir William Parsons is not over 
quick of comprehension, but he were duller than one of his own 
donkeys an’ he could not read so plain a lesson !” 

A livid hue'overspread the massive features of the Lord Justice, 
and a gleam of lurid fire— a single gleam, shot from his eye, as 
though charged with the lightning’s destructive power. But he 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


69 


was not tlie man to give way to violent emotion, at least in ont- 
ward show, and so terribly calm was the tone in which he next 
addressed the prisoner — that the latter looked at him in some 
surprise, a surprise which was not shared by Parson’s brethren of 
the Council who knew the man better. 

“ It is well, it is very well,” he said with a sort of portentous 
^ smile, “ you have shown us at once the full extent of your malig- 
nity, and thereby saved much trouble. You appear to be some- 
what plain spoken, and may, therefore, throw some light on this 
matter, to wit, the traitorous rising up of the Irishry against the 
King’s majesty ” 

“ That the rising will take place, nay, has taken place in many 
parts of this Kingdom of Ireland, I freely admit,” said McMahon, 
calmly ; “ that it is against the King’s majesty I deny — and I de- 
sire that your scribe yonder put this my solemn denial on record. 
If his highness were left free to deal with his Irish subjects, 
according to his own royal clemency and justice, there would bo 
no discontent among us.” 

“ Most like not — an’ ye had your way in all things, ye might 
be content to give the King his. His grace is much beholden to 
you. Pity it is, though, that so gracious a sovereign and such 
loyal subjects should so little understand one another.” 

“ It well becomes Sir William Parsons to talk in that fashion,” 
said McMahon, with bitter emphasis ; “ none knows better than 
he the causes which keep our liege lord and his faithful Irish 
subjects from coming to an amicable agreement. Your lordship 
and some others whom we wot of may live to feel that we are 
over loyal for your liking, though you speak the word now in 
scorn. Our lord the king, likewise, may learn all too soon — pray 
God it be not to his cost^that treason and rebellion lurk full 
often under robes of state I” 

This home-thrust told so well on the thick hide of Sir Wil- 
liam’s conscience that the purple tint faded from his dark visage, 
and was replaced by an ashy paleness. He rose from his seat, 
sat down again, drew a long convulsive breath, then coughed 
slightly once or twice as though to clear away the last lingering 
remnant of emotion, and was finally about to address the prisoner, 


70 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


who was aH this time engaged in adjusting his girdle, when Wil- 
loughby stood up : 

“ My Lord Justice,” said he, “ I crave your pardon. This inso- 
lence exceeds the bounds of toleration. We cannot allow farther 
speech before this Council to a man who can so far forget the 
respect due to such authority ” 

A scornful laugh from McMahon elicited a dark scowl from 
Parsons and a fierce threat from Willoughby. Some of the other 
members urged dispatch, as, from certain sounds outside the house, 
they had reason to believe that either some other prisoners or at 
least fresh intelligence had arrived. 

“Pray God it be not Maguire!” murmured McMahon, half 
audibly, enlightened by a sudden presentiment. It was Maguire, 
and before any further question could be put to his friend he was 
brought in looking as 

“ Ghastly, pale, and wan 

As he who saw the spectre-hound in Man.” 

And yet there was nothing craven or cowardly in the manner 
with which he confronted the imposing array around the table, 
lie was still the Irish peer, the chieftain of Fermanagh, looking 
down, as it were, on his upstart judges from an elevation all the 
greater for the misfortune which had placed him in their power. 
With him indeed the flesh was weak, but the spirit strong, and 
so McMahon felt as their eyes met in melancholy greeting. 

After a short whispered consultation amongst the councillors 
as to whether the prisoners should be examined apart or face to 
face, the former was decided on. Lord Maguire was removed to 
an adjoining chamber until such time as McMahon’s examination 
was brought to a close. Again the friends exchanged glances. 

“ Courage, Connor I” said McMahon in Irish ; “ all is well that 
ends well!” 

“True, Costelloe,” returned the peer dejectedly; “but this 
cannot end well ” 

“ Why not,” called McMahon after him, as he was conveyed to 
fhe door ; “ what can they do but take our lives, and surely you 
would not shrink from a patriot’s death ” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


71 


“ Silence, prisoner !” cried a stern voice from the table ; “ you 
presume on our indulgence !” 

'A. contemptuous laugh was McMahon’s answer, as Parsons 
rose in wrath to examine him. 

“ You are cognizant, are you not, of a deep-laid conspiracy 
amongst certain individuals to overturn the existing government 
and ” 

“ To destroy rather the ferocious and tyrannical reign of des- 
potism in this island ” 

“ Note well his answers !” said the galled Puritan Justice to 
the Clerk of the Council. 

“ Ay ! note them well,” replied the prisoner ; “ put them down 
in black and white ; they will soon be copied in my blood !” 

“ Silence !” 

“ You admit a knowledge of this traitorous plot!” 

“ I admit that your government is in danger !” 

“ And you were a party to the design concerning the seizure of 
the Castle 7” 

“ I was — I came up to Dublin, with other lords and gentlemen, 
with intent to take that fortress 1” 

“ Be so good as to name some of these lords and gentlemen I” 

“ Not one of them will I name 1” 

“We can force you — there be persuasive arguments at our 
command— ay I arguments to overcome even your contumacy !” 

“ I deny it,” said INIcMahon firmly ; “ I know the arguments 
you mean — the rack, the thumbscrew, and other such appliances 
for Popish flesh and blood — ^you may use them on me, an’ 
welcome ” 

“ Sirrah !” cried Willoughby, starting from his seat, “ your life 
is forfeited even now ” 

“ I know it, sir ! — I scorn to give back your scuiwy sirrah — 
I know I stand here alone and helpless in the power of those 
who never spared or pitied one of my race or creed — but, never- 
tlieless, I pledge ye my word as an Irish gentleman, my Lords 
Justices, and ye of the Council, that not one drop of my 
blood shall fall unrevenged — there be those in arms, ay I and in 
power, who will settle the score with ye all 1” 

Further attempts were then made to induce McMahon to 


72 


THE CONFEDKKATE CIIIEFTALNB. 


impeach some of his “ fellow-conspirators,” but not another ques- 
tion would he answer, and some of the Council being anxious to 
get rid of the affair, besought that this contumacious rebel might 
be remanded for further examination, and the other prisoner 
brought in at once. 

“ Keep him in the hall,” said Borlase, “ till the other is dis- 
posed of. Let him e’en study his morning’s work — but, hark 
you, Milman ! see that his hands be made fast — no more sketch- 
ing, an’ you value whole bones !” 

Maguire’s examination occupied but little time. With charac- 
teristic caution and timidity he persisted in denying all knowl- 
edge of a conspiracy against the government. Unlike McMa- 
hon he neither boasted nor threatened — he knew nothing, and 
hence could tell nothing, or criminate any one. The only out- 
burst of feeling that escaped him was when the. Lord Chancellor 
Meredith, on the part of the Council and the King’s majesty, held 
out to him hopes of pardon if he would name some of the lords 
and gentlemen implicated in the plot. On this, the blood of the 
Maguires took fire. 

“ Plot !” cried the chieftain indignantly ; “ I have said I know 
of no plot, but suppose I did know that all the chief men of our 
persecuted native race, and all the tribes who look up to them 
as rulers, were resolved no longer to be crushed as worms, but 
to cast off, come what may, the intolerable burden laid upon 
them for their destruction — suppose I were to tell you that, 
which, perchance, your wisdom may see without hint of mine 
— it were needless to name any — all being of the same mind. 
Work your will on the children of the soil collectively, for assur- 
edly we are all of the one mind in regard to your doings, but 
that is all I have to tell you, though you tore me to pieces on 
the rack.” 

“ It is very well,” said Parsons, with his gloomy smilo ; sum- 
mon liither the Constable of the Castle — I believe he is in attend- 
ance.” That functionary quickly appeared, and to him W'ere de- 
livered the two prisoners, with a delicate hint from the Lord Jus- 
tice that it might be necessary hereafter to initiate them into the 
mystic rites of the Star-chamber. Maguire changed counten- 
ance on hearing this, though he tried to force a smile. McMa- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


73 


hon answered with a gesture of haughty indifference and a care- 
less laugh. 

“ Do you affect Irish music, Sir William V’ said the reckless 
Tanist of Uriel ; “if so, you may have a serenade full soon from 
the pipes and clairseachs of Ulster. I hear them even now — far 
off as in a dream — and vengeance breathes in every tone !” 

“ Take them hence,” cried Parsons, almost speechless with 
anger, and the prisoners were accordingly conveyed to the dun- 
geons of that Castle which in a few hours was to have been their 
own. 

4a 



74 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


CHAPTER VI. 

“ What I do next, shall bo, to tell the king of this escape, and whither 
they are bound.” Shakspeake’s Winter's Talc. 

** As spiders never seek the fly. 

But leave him of himself t’ apply. 

So men are by themselves employ’d 
To quit the freedom they enjoy’d. 

And run their necks into a noose, 

They’d break ’em after to get loose.” 

Butler’s Iludibras. 

Half an hour or so after Lord Maguire and Ms friend were 
committed to the Castle-prison, a small wherry might have been 
seen, floating idly down the Lifiey’s turbid stream, not far from the 
Old Bridge. Its only occupant was a lubberly boy of that amphi- 
bious class, midway between the seaman and the landsman, then 
as now to be found about the water side in sea-port towns, well 
content to do nothing, yet able to take a hand on either element 
at any species of work which required only bone and sinew. Ilis 
bullet eyes were gazing listlessly on a crowd of persons assembled 
at the corner of Bridge street, around an officially-clad personage, 
who was reading aloud from a manuscript document in his hand. 
Stolid as the youth was he could not but perceive that soma 
unusual bustle was going forward. All along the quay, and in 
the various streets opening on it from the city, men were hur- 
rying to and fro, exchanging significant words as they passed 
each other, as if all were bent on a common object. 

“ I’m thinking there’s some news abroad this morning,” said 
Perry to himself, but without any troublesome feeling of curiosity, 
“ an’ it were not that master bade me keep the boat here about 
the bridge-foot till I’d light on a fare, I’d bo ashore before 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


75 


this to see what’s in the wind. Hillo, master ! — do you want 
a boat'?” 

This was in answer -to a signal made him by a sailor on the 
bridge-steps. Another sign in the affirmative brought the boat 
close alongside, and the sailor jumping in, stretched himself with 
- a lazy yawn on a bench in the stern. In answer to the boy’s 
question, as to where he wished to be rowed to, the sailor, with a 
drunken hiccup, pointed to some three or four of his fellows who 
had joined the crowd on the quay and seemed listening intently 
to the reading aforesaid. 

“ Hang the lubberly knaves, what an itching they have for 
news !” grunted their comrade in the boat ; “ we have got but 
this one day a-shore, and they e’en clip it shorter than it be — (hic- 
cup !) — ^hearkening to some fal-de-ral not worth a brass farthing. 
Hark you, Watty !” raising his voice to the utmost, “ what the 
plague’s got into your noddle I” 

His voice appeared to set Watty and his mates in motion, for 
they instantly detached themselves from the crowd and walked 
towards the boat with that shuffling gait peculiar to their craft. 
They were all more or less under the influence of liquor, and 
laughed uproariously at the angry rebuke of their companion. 

“ Time enough. Bill ! time enough,” cried one of the last arri- 
vals; “ your old dame’s porridge will keep hot, never fear!” 

“ But, what — what the puck made you stand there gaping'?” 

“We were a-listening not a-gaping. Bill!” said the man ad- 
dressed as Watty ; “ yonder fellow is reading what they call a 
proclamation, so as w^e never chanced to hear the like before, 
Launcelot and the rest of us had a mind to listen.” 

“ A proc , what did youeay it was '?” demanded Bill. 

“ A proc-la-ma-tion ! do you hear it now '?” 

“ Ay, marry, do I — (hiccup !) — ^but I be nothing the wiser for 

the hearing. What is it like, that proc , hang the word ! — ”(hic 

— hiccup !) 

“ Hang your scurvy memory,” retorted Watty, with a hoarse 
laugh ; “ the word is well enough. An’ you want to know w'hat 
it’s all about, why, it’s a chance for somebody to win five hun- 
dred gold marks by delivering up to justice one Roger O’Moore, 
n certain wild Irishman who, it seems, has been raising the old 


70 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


d — 1 in these parts. An’ the fellow is only half as bad as they 
make him out, his whole carcass be not worth the money, though 
any one who brings in his head will get it. Strike me dumb if 
these great folks on shore be not greater fools than any we have 
on sea ! — ^pull out now, my lad, we’ll lend a hand an’ you give us 
oars! — up, Bill, up — take an oar, you lubber! or the dame’s 
cookery may go for nought !” Bill’s intoxication did not prevent 
him from both, taking and using the oar, which he did, however, 
so awkwardly that Perry grinned from ear to ear as he in- 
quired : “ Where to, master P’ 

“ Up the river a piece—we’ll show you where to stop. Bo 
alive now and you shall have a trifle to drink our health over and 
above your fare !” 

Before the lad could turn his boat’s prow up the stream, ho 
was hailed by another voice from the shore — “Where is that 
boat bound for 1” 

“ Can’t say, master !” and Perry shook his head with a puzzled 
air. 

“ Can't say, you blockhead,” cried the other angrily ; “ I’ll 
teach you to say, an’ I come within reach. Are you going up or 
down, sirrah P’ 

“ Up !” said the boy very gruffly, muttering to himself, at the 
same time : “You may go seek a passage for all Perry cares, 
my flue gentleman !” 

“ Stop, stop, that’s my way, too !” shouted the stranger ; “ stop, 
I command you !” 

But this was not so easy done, had Perry been ever so well in- 
clined, for the sinewy arras of the four sailors had been speeding 
the boat with all their might, and the little craft was already some 
distance from the shore skimming the water with amazing swift- 
ness for the lumbering thing she appeared to be. The boy 
grumbled somewhat about losing another fare, but his good 
humor was quickly restored when Watty assured him, on the 
part of himself and his mates, that he should be no loser on tho 
occasion. 

“ Ay ! but he’ll have a grudge against me on account of it,” 
said Perry ; “ that’s Sheriff Woodcock, and a dark man they say 
he is !” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


77 


“ Sheriff Woodcock !” repeated one of the sailors carelessly; 

Lord ! who’d have thought it. He’s as arrant a churl as ever I 
laid my eyes on !” 

“ Take your time now, lads !” said Bill in an under tone, “ no 
hurry — you understand 1 till the worshipf ul is out of sight !” 
and thereupon Bill raised his voice to its highest pitch, and sang, 
as the boat moved slowly up the stream, a verse of a street-ballad 
then much in vogue amongst the anti-Irish population of tho 
metropolis : 

“ Proud and poor, 

Lank and lean, 

With matted locks, 

And face unclean, 

Owner of a pike and skene — 

Here’s your native Celt, 0 !” 

“ Pike and skene !” he muttered, exchanging a fierce look with 
his comrade opposite ; “ better that than nothing !” Aloud ho 
repeated once again : “ Here’s your native Celt, 0 !” 

“ All is right in that quarter,” said the sheriff on the quay ; 
“ there can be no deception p the good will with which tho fel- 
low gives that out, and no man of the Irishry would sing it.” 

“ I think your worship is well shot of such company,” spoke a 
shrill voice at his side, and turning quickly the official personago 
encountered the fiabby face of his subordinate John Steeples • 
“ the fellows are as drunk as swine ! Let them e’en go their 
way — though they be loyal, too, as my ears tell me — ^howsom- 
ever, worshipful sir, an’ you’ll step this way, I have a word for 
your particular hearing. I pray you heed not the boat, good 
master ! for though the song be not bad, and so weU sung that I 
could share a can of beer with the singer, an’ I had him near me 
at a leisure hour, still the hearing of it will put no gold in your 
worship’s pocket, nor would the sail to Island Bridge, for that 
matter, but an’ you’ll come with me to a private place, I can tell 
you something that may fill every pocket you have with gold' 
pieces !” 

Anxious to hear this lucrative secret, the sheriff followed his 
familiar to a small house in Winetavem street, where John had 


78 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


a back room at command. “ You know, John,” said the em- 
ployer, with a very serious face, as he took his seat near the 
blazing hearth; “you know, John, gold is nothing to me — 
nothing — ^but the duties of mine office are — I need not tell yoUj 
John — are — everything /” 

^ “ I know it, your worship ! I do know it,” quoth John, with a 
look which he intended to convey honest conviction ; “ hence it is 
that I am so urgent in this matter.” Then lowering his voice to a 
whisper, he stepped over on tip-toe, and stretching out his short 
neck till his face almost touched the grave official countenance : 
“ I have found out the chief plotter in this rebellion !” 

«« What — whom do you mean,'?” cried the sheriff with a start. 

“I mean Roger O' Moore P' said John, drawing liimself up with 
an air of superlative exultation. 

“You do, John!” and 'the sheriff started to his feet; “you 
know where to lay your hand on him “?” 

“ Of a surety, I do 1” 

“ Then, my dear John, give me your hand ! — fifty of the gold 
marks shall be yours — for the rest, you know, I care nothing, 
but the credit of the thing, John 1 — that is what I prize the most 
— with Maguire and McMahon in -custody, and now the arch- 
traitor, O’Moore — why, man it will make our fortune — diet’s go, 
now, my trusty and right faithful Jolm 1” 

Taking with them a trio of stout constables whom they met 
on the way, they went accordingly to the dwelling of Patrick 
Moore, merchant, in the upper part of what is now Lower Bridge 
street, where undoubtedly Rory O’Moore had been wont to lodge, 
for it was the identical house wherein we first found that chieftain 
entertaining his friends. Unluckily for Sheriff Woodcock’s pro- 
fessional glory, though the’ cage was there, the bird was flown. 
Master Patrick Moore, being informed of the object of their 
search, politely expressed his regret that they had not come a 
few hours earlier. 

“ How so '?” asked the sheriff, with a sad misgiving smiting his 
heart. 

“ Why, because, worshipful sir,” said the urbane man of com- 
merce, “ Mr. O’Moore left his lodgings here before daylight this 
morning — to my sorrow, I needs must say, for he is a man of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


79 


princely generosity and thinks no more of money than he docs of 
the sand on the floor. I crave your pardon, honored sir, for mak- 
ing free to speak of my own aflairs in your presence, but the loss 
of a good lodger whom one has had on his floor, ofi* and on for 
three years, is something not easy to get over. You can walk up 
stairs, gentlemen — assuredly !” seeing some of the constables in 
the act of ascending. 

As for the sherifi*, he saw all too clearly that the man spoke in 
the best of faith, and with a groan that came from the region of 
his bowels, he called to John Steeples, who was already near the 
top of the narrow stairway, that he thought it were but losing 
time to search the house. 

“ No matter for that, your worship,” cried John from above, 
“ I’m determined to see it out — it’s something I can’t stand to bo 
tricked by a scurvy Irishman, and I won't be either, an’ I can 
help it. I’ll have him out, an’ he’s in the house, though I ripped 
open every bed in it. I’ll not leave a hole where a mouse could 
hide, but I’ll know what's in it ! An’ your worship has a mind 
to go elsewhere, ^wo can e’en see this matter out — myself and 
these good fellows.” 

“ And if so be you And him, John ! you will bear in mind that 
you act for me — will you not V' 

“ Of a surety, sir, I will — -make your mind easy on that head !” 

With a very polite obeisance. Master Moore let the sheriflr out, 
and with slow and heavy step that interesting specimen of the 
ornithological tribe took his way to the Castle, where the Lords 
Justices, and their privileged advisers, were by this time re- 
established for dispatch of business. Before we enter with 
his worship those gloomy portals so justly dreaded by the 
natives of the country, it may be worth while to have another 
l)eep at John Steeples as he steps on tip-toe into the apparently 
deserted sitting-room of Rory O’Moore. 

John appeared to have a good understanding with the other 
members of the search-committee, for the street-door had no 
sooner closed after their common emploj’^r, than that worthy, 
hearing Master Moore’s step on the stairs, hastened to prevent 
his entrance by double locking the room-door, which having 
done, he tipped a sly wink at each of his companions, and smiled 


80 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


a grim smile, and nodded his head in a way peculiar to himself, 
but well understood, it would seem, by those for whom the gesture 
was meant. 

“ Sit down now, my mates, and make yourselves at home for 
a brief space,” said the fat constable, in an easy confidential tone, 
having first taken care to stuiF the key-hole ; “or perchance it 
were the better thing for you to make some noise in the way of 
knocking things about, even as though we were searching with 
all our might.” 

Having set his comrades to work pulling furniture hither and 
thither in the noisiest manner possible, John approached an alcove 
in the sitting-room, saying with a most complaxient air : “ If so bo 
we find not Roger O’Moore, we may find somewhat in the shape 
of a cordial for our empty stomachs this cold morning. Theso 
Irish gentlemen, to give the devil his due, are most excellent 
judges of liquor, and I warrant mo this same ‘ arch-rebel,’ as 
they call him, is not without good store of it in his cupboard !” 

This hint was not lost on his companions, and, amid the 
arduous and laudable employment at which John had placed 
them, many a wistful look was cast towards the deep recess into 
which that ingenious personage had dived. Hopes were raised 
to the highest pitch as flask after flask was drawn forth, to the 
number of half a dozen, some of them labelled with foreign 
names which no one there could decipher. These being duly 
ranged on the table, together with a few goblets, at a signal 
from John the whole party gathered around like so many cormo- 
rants over their prey, their frost-pinched noses and blue cold lips, 
indicating the need they had of some warming draught. 

“ Here’s the real usquebaugh,” said John, taking up a stone 
flask, and proceeding, as he thought, to pour out some of its pre- 
cious contents ; “ there be nothing like it, they do say, for keep- 
ing out the cold.” Alas ! the cruel usquebaugh refused to come, 
the still more cruel rebels had not left one solitary drop. This 
flrst disappointment was bitter, but still hope remained. There 
were others to be tried, and some of them must needs be full, 
they were so heavy. With convulsive eagerness, and impreca- 
tions not a few, one after one was tried and found wanting — their 
weight was deceitful — they were aU empty as the prophet’s gourd, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


81 


and with a vengeful oath John Steeples flung the last on the 
stone hearth, and shivered it into a thousand fragments, amid 
a chorus of shouts from his companions, some angry, some 
derisive. 

“ May the foul fiend fly away with them, boat, and all !” cried 
honest John ; “ an’ I thought he would play such a scurvy trick 
as to leave his cupboard in this wise, Sherifl* Woodcock might 
have had his five hundred marks by this time.” 

“ How is that, John 1” asked one of the listeners, but John all 
at once remembered that in his anger he was committing himself, 
so he made an evasive answer, and wisely kept to himself the fact 
that he had bargained with a certain Master Dillon, (to wit, Sir 
James of that name,) to connive at O’Moore’s escape, he being 
. found cognizant of his whereabouts. The trusty follower of She- 
riff* Woodcock well knowing that in case he delivered the rebel 
chief to justice, his employer would contrive to pocket the lion’s 
share of the reward, thought it more to his real advantage to 
pocket the sum offered b}’^ Sir James Dillon, and let the sheriff, 
look after his own interest. If truth must be told, too, he had a 
trifling grudge against the same gentleman, for and on account 
of certain former transactions wherein John had been the dupe 
of his master’s superior cunning. Hence John’s timely appear- 
ance on the quay, an^ the pains he had taken to draw off the 
sheriff* ’s attention from the boat which, having said so much, it 
is needless to say, contained Rory O’Moore, Colonels Plunket and 
Byrne, with the friend who had engaged the boat, and otherwise 
provided for their escape. 

Having demolished the principal articles of furniture within the 
rooms, by way of venting their disappointment, the jackals of the 
law, thinking it time to evacuate the premises, made to open the 
door, taking it for granted that they had nothing to do but 
walk down stairs. Here, however, another and still worse dis- 
appointment awaited them : the door was locked and also fas- 
tened on the outside, the bailiffs and constables were caught in 
a trap of their own making. Threats and promises wore alter- 
nately addressed by the chafed and angry captives to Master Moore 
or some other imaginary personage without, but no word or sound 
could their straining ears hoar in reply — all within was noise and 
4 * 


82 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


clamor, all without silent as the grave. Hungry and cold as the 
prisoners were, the keenest pangs of their misery arose from the 
recollection of the rich harvest to he reaped that day in the city — 
a harvest on which each of them had been building all manner of 
speculations. Every expedient that ingenuity could suggest was 
tried on the door, and at length the lock yielded to the skill and 
perseverance brought to bear on it. Alas ! freedom was as far 
off as ever — the outward fastening still remained. Hope at length 
vanished, and as grim despair began to take its place, the gen- 
eral excitement amounted almost to frenzy, discharging itself in 
a torrent of angry abuse on the conscious head of John Steeples, 
whom his worthy associates accused as the sole cause of their 
misfortune. John defended himself as best he might, alleging 
that what he had done was with a view to the common good, and * 
that no one could charge him with selfish motives. If jars and 
flasks were found empty, when they ought in all reason and in 
fair play to have been full, surely no one could blame him^ in- 
asmuch as he was himself a joint sufferer with the rest. His 
rhetoric was, however, thrown away — hunger, and cold, and thirst 
— yea, even the thirst for gold were all clamoring fiercely against 
him, and as time passed brows scowled darker and words cam© 
forth fiercer and more ominous, till, at last, John Steeples’ pro- 
fessional hardihood failed him, and he began to shiver with bodily 
terror, when affairs took a turn as lucky as unexpected. In a 
fit of desperation John’s fellow-prisoners made a combined attack 
on the door, rushed against it with all their might, and went head 
foremost into the corridor without, one over the other in ludicrous 
confusion, while the whole venerable fabric shook with the force of 
their fall, and a peal of distant laughter echoing from room to 
room proved, with provoking clearness, that the mishap was not 
the work of chance. Stunned and bruised as they were from 
their fall, and mortified beyond endurance at the trick which had 
been put upon them, still the sense of recovered liberty was para- 
mount over all, and as John Steeples, with most meritorious 
gravity, assisted them in turn to regain the perpendicular, there 
was less of anger than of sheepish embarrassment in the general 
expression of their faces. Vengeance they, indeed, vowed against 
the Moores, young and old, kith and kin ; but the desire of car- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 83 

lying it out was, for the time, subordinate to the corporal wants 
before alluded to, and the no less craving longing for a share of 
the government gold, likely to be flung that day with a liberal 
hand amongst their honored fraternity. Great in proportion to 
the peril from which he believed himself to have escaped, was 
the joy of John Steeples when he trundled down stairs in the rear , 
of his company, free to seek his morning meal at the nearest 1 
eating-house, and free, too, from the bodily fear which had been 
Dozing in cold sweat from every pore. 

Meanwhile all was confusion amongst the high functionaries of 
the realm. Entirely ignorant as to the actual extent of the re- 
bellion, fear magnified it into universal, and, in the absence of all 
reliable information, the very worst was apprehended. It was 
something, to be sure, that the design on the Castle had been 
frustrated, (for the hour appointed, according to O’Conolly, for 
the attack, was now past, without any appearance of insurrection 
within the walls,) yet that afforded but small consolation when 
there was no knowing what moment the rebels might come, in 
overwhelming numbers, to invest the city. Several other mem- 
bers of the Council had made their appearance, including two of 
the episcopal body by law estabhshed. A proclamation was pre- 
pared, announcing to the country, in exaggerated terms, the 
wicked plot which had been so happily frustrated, together with 
the capture of some of the chief conspirators. Couriers were 
sent with this document to all the principal lords and gentlemen 
throughout the provinces, requesting that all possible publicity 
might be given to it, and this with a view to discourage and pre- 
vent any further attempts on the part of the Irish. The city was 
all bustle and excitement, confined, however, to the officials and 
hangers-on of the government, for, whether it was that timely 
warning had been sent over night to the diffbrent parties who 
were to have combined for the attack on the Castle, or that the 
arrest of Maguire and McMahon was told them before they en- 
tered the city, it is certain that they were all invisible during the 
day, even to the lynx-eyed cormorants of the law. 

As the day approached its meridian, and yet nothing heard of 
the rebels, the vague terrors of the night and of the morning 
began to clear away somewhat, and by the time Sheriff Woodcock 


84 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


made his bow before that august body — the zodiac of his solar 
system — announcing the continued quiet of the city and its 
neighborhood, the Council, and even the Lords Justices, waxed 
quite facetious, and many a dull grave jest was bandied about 
at the expense of “the beggarly Irishry,” who, as Parsons 
jocosely observed, “ had not mettle enough in them to raise a 
stir that might perchance give honest men their own.” 

“ But what of O’Moore, Master Sheriff!” demanded the Bishop 
of Meath. 

“ No word of him yet, my reverend lord,” returned the obse- 
quious official, carefully keeping his morning’s adventure out of 
sight ; “ I warrant me has e’en betaken himself out of our reach 
in time ” 

“ Ay, marry,” put in Parsons, “ they say he is cunning as a 
fox, and can shift himself out of difficulty let who may get tho 
worst of it.” 

“ I am well acquainted with his prudence and sagacity,” ob- 
served the prelate, and he shook his head with a very serious 
air ; “ hence it is that I am ill at ease so long as he remains at 
large. I would, for the peace of the country, he were in as safo 
keeping as the other two.” 

“ Caged, eh !” cried Willoughby from an arm-chair in a remote 
comer ; “ all in good time, my Lord of Meath ! We’ll have 
them all time enough for the plucking — what say you. Sir Wil- 
liam! There be scores of the Popish fowl better worth than 
this gallows-bird, O’Moore, who, as I hear, is bare as a picked 
bone— let him e’en go, he will bring others into the nest whoso 
feathers will make soft pillows — ha ! ha !’* 

This demoniacal hint was shai’ply rebuked by one of the bishops, 
while Parsons himself thought it decorous to reprimand his 
friend, accompanying the words, nevertheless, with a side glance, 
which more than contradicted their meaning. 

Willoughby laughed in his usual boisterous way, saying : “I 
knew not that any here were so squeamish as regards a joke 
— however, an’ ye do not relish mine we can"e’en let it pass ” 

His discordant laugh had not yet died away amongst the arches 
of the old oaken roof, when the Council was again thrown into 
perturbation by the arrival of Lord Blayney, who, travel-stained 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


85 


and weary from his long night’s ride, suddenly appeared before 
the assembled lords in that same room, so memorable in Irish 
story, where half a century before 

“Silken Thomas flung 

King Henry’s sword on Council-board the English thanes among.” 

To the hurried and anxious question of “ What news from the 
north 1” simultaneously put by several voices. Lord Blayney re- 
plied in tremulous accents : 

“ The worst that could be brought — all Ulster is up in arms 
under Sir Phelim O’Neill, O’Reilly, McMahon, and other chiefs 
of note.” 

“ Merciful Heaven !” cried Sir Robert Meredith, “ are you sure 
of this, my lord P’ v 

“ Sure of it. Sir Robert!” answered Blayney with some indig- 
nation ; “ think you I would travel from Castle Blayney hither on 
an idle rumor 7 Am I sure of it I when all I hold dearest — ^wife, 
children — all — are prisoners in the hands of the fierce McMahons. 
God only knows if they be nPt butchered ere now !” 

“ And your Castle I” asked Parsons eagerly. 

“ My Castle, too, is in their possession — oh 1 that I live to 
tell it 1” 

Lord Blaney’s evil tidings, if the first, were not the last of that 
eventful day. Towards evening, the Council was brought to- 
gether again by a message from Sir Arthur Tyringham, governor 
of Newry, to the effect that the garrison had been taken by the 
Magennises, together with a large quantity of military stores — 
tlie latter was deemed even the greater loss, inasmuch as it fur- 
nished the rebels with what they most wanted, and, moreover, 
what the government could but ill spare at the time. 

The courier from Newry was quickly followed by another 
from Dungannon, announcing the capture of that fort by Sir 
Phelim O’Neill. 

“ What I Dungannon taken, too V cried Willoughby. 

“ Yea, my lord 1” replied the soldier who had brought the 
news; “ but that is not all — Charlemont is likewise in the hands 
of the rebels— the same crew that took Dungannon made straight 
for Charlemont.” 


86 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Charlemont ! well nigh the strongest place in Ulster ! — surely 
you mistake, good fellow ! they can have no artillery — no siege- 
engines — ^by St. George ! an’ they took that fort so easily, it is 
foul shame to the garrison — I would shoot every man of them, 
my lords and gentlemen! — I would — or worse death — yea, even 
hang them like dogs for arrant cowards as they be I” 

“ I warrant O’Neill will save us the trouble. Sir Francis !” 
observed Parsons, while the others talked apart in low, eager 
whispers. “ How is it, soldier ! did the rebels kill all before 
them 

“Not that I heard of, my lords! As yet they have but 
taken prisoners.” This almost incredible news elicited no word 
of commendation, softened no heart on behalf of “ the Irishry.” 
Leaving the Council to digest the astounding intelligence hourly 
pouring in from the north, we must hasten to relieve the reader’s 
anxiety for the fate of Kory O’Moore and his faithful friends. 
Acting their assumed parts with consummate skill, so as to keep 
Perry under the impression that they were nothing more than 
they seemed, they managed to get safe on shore some miles up 
the river. After dismissing the boat with the promised gratuity 
to Perry — so small as not to excite his suspicions, they took their 
way inland, and when once out of sight of the river, shook 
bands and parted, each one betaking himself to the house of an 
acquaintance in the neighborhood, lest they, remaining together, 
should attract attention. The future steps to be taken had all 
been previously arranged. As for O’Moore, he found a safe and 
pleasant asylmn at the house of his daughter, then lately mar- 
ried to a certain Mr. Sarsfield,* and residing at Lucan. There 
he remained for a day or so until he effected his escape to the 
north. 

* And these were subsequently the parents of one of Ireland’s 
most illustrious sons — Patrick Sarsfield. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


87 


CHAPTER VII 

“ Yet liadat thou thy vengeance — yet came there the moriow, 

That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night — 

When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery and sorrow, 

Was shiver’d at once like a reed in thy sight.” 

Moore’s Irish Melodies. 

“ He rose the first — he looms the morning star 
Of the long, glorious, unsuccessful war — 

England abhors him ! Has she not abhorr’d 
All who for Ireland ventured life or word 7 
What memory would she not have cast away, 

That Ireland hugs in her heart’s-heart to-day 7” 

T. D. McGee. 

A WEEK had produced unhoped-for changes in Ulster. As if 
by magic, all the land had changed masters, and from Lough 
Sheelan’s waters in O’Farrel’s country,* to the shores of Lough 
Swilly and Lough Foyle, in the far north, the banners of the na- 
tive chiefs floated in triumph over fortress, tower, and town. In 
all the province of Ulster, from' the green hills of Cavan to An- 
trim’s rugged coast, with the single exceptions of Derry, Carrick- 
fergus and Enniskillen, there was not one stronghold in stranger 
hands. Over Charlemont and Dungannon, Benburb, Mountjoy, 
and Portmore, the Red Hand waved as in days of old, side by 
side with the royal banner of England, for it was Phelim O’Neill’s 
proudest boast that he and his warred not against their sovereign, 
but only to resist the further aggressions of his government in Ire- 
land, regarded by the whole Catholic body as traitors to the royal 


* Now tho county of Longford. 


88 


THIS CONFEDERATE ( IIIEFTAINS. 


cause, as well as ruthless oppressors of themselves. Ever blindly 
attached to the house of Stuart, the native Irish were but too 
ready to make excuses to themselves for the ungrateful and per- 
fidious conduct of Charles, and to throw the blame on his offi- 
cials in Dublin, who were consequently the avowed objects of 
their undying hostility. Parsons and Borlase with their host of 
satellites constituted the actual scourge of Catholic Ireland at that 
day, and they, with the system of robbery and persecution which 
they represented, must be swept away, as the chieftains thought, 
before the king could carry out his merciful designs in their'favor. 
Hence it was that the banner of England floated on the northern 
breeze wherever the native arms prevailed, and so it was all 
through what is strangely called the great Rebellion. But to re- 
tiu n. Tyr-Owen, as I said, was Phelim’s own — ay ! every rood of 
it. Newry, and all the Ban country were subject once again to 
the ancient lords of Iveagh. The strong fort of Tanderagee was 
taken from the enemy by the brave O’Haiilons ; the venerable city 
of Patrick, the Primatial See of Ireland, was captured by Phelim 
O’Neill after a fierce and protracted resistance ; the gallant 
McDonnels of the Glynns did their duty well in Antrim, notwith- 
standing the threatening proximity of the Scotch garrison of Car- 
rickfergus ; the McMahons, roused to tenfold fury by the news 
of their brave Tanist’s imprisonment, swept over their entire 
country, within the first few days of the insurrection, so that not 
one place of refuge remained to the enemy in all the county of 
Monaghan. 

In Fermanagh, for a similar reason, the arm of vengeance fell 
with deadlier force. The Maguires were a stern and a warlike 
race, men of Spartan courage and iron will, and it grieved them 
sore to think that their lord should languish in dungeon vile 
when other clans marched to battle with their chieftains at their 
head. 

When the news of Maguire’s capture first reached his own do- 
mains, his brother Roderick assembled the men of his name who 
had not as yet joined Sir Phelim’s army, and announced the diS’ 
aster which had come upon them. A roar, or rather a mighty 
groan, was heard, like that of the angry ocean, when its waves 
are lashed into sudden fury, — the crowd heaved to and fro as 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


89 


though agitated by one common instinct, then all was ominously 
still, save the voice of one who cried aloud — 

“ Wluat caa be done, 0 Roderick, for the chieftain of our 
race T’ 

“ Nought can we do,” made the brother answer, in a sorrowful 
tone ; “ nought can we do, for Connor, — the fangs of the serpent 
are in his flesh, and while life is left him he will be their prey — 
justice neither he nor McMahon can expect, and word or act of 
ours were alike powerless on their behalf — ^to. God’s mercy, then, 
must we entrust them, hoping that ere it be too late, we may 
win freedom for them with our strong arms — but this can 
we do — ” he paused and surveyed the breathless crowd with a 
kindling flery glance — “ an’ we cannot save them from ignominy, 
torture, and, perhaps, death — we can gloriously revenge them — 
we can do what I am well assured they would wish us to do — 
yea, what will gladden their sorrowful hearts to hear of — we can 
drive the foreign herd like swine from this land of ours — ^we can 
do unto them that which they have for ages done unto us — we 
will do our part of what needs must be done, if we would longer 
breathe God’s air and live above ground !” 

A wild shout of approbation denoted the kindred sentiments of the 
people, and the lake shore resounded with the ancient war-cry of 
the Clan Maguire, announcing to the English garrison, shut up 
within the walls of Enniskillen, that all the country round was in 
open rebellion, that the flerce sept, whom even in repose they 
feared, were now girding on the weapons of war. And they did 
gird them on with a vengeance, and the Tanist kept his stem 
vow, for annalists tell that Rory Maguire, “ brother of the Lord 
Maguire,” ruined and devastated the English possessions in Fer- 
managh, and carried Are and sword to the very walls of Ennis- 
killen. He had an uncle, too, a valiant gentleman, one Lorcan 
More Maguire, who did good service all during those trying 
times, and between them they made Fermanagh too hot for the 
enemies of their race and creed. Lorcan was a great lover of the 
marvellous, and to him were made all the spiritual “ warnings.” 
and other like manifestations affecting the fate of the Maguires. 
Accordingly, the news of his nephew’s imprisonment had no 
sooner reached him tlmn ho declared it had all been foreshown 


90 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


him by dreams and divers remarkable omens, not to speak of 
the Banshee, whose doleful cries had been nightly ringing in his 
ears for weeks. And still her voice haunted his slumbers, Lorcan 
said, but her wail was mingled with beseechings for revenge, and 
the old man vowed she should have enough of it, or be his race 
“ unwept” for ever more. And yet by a strange anomaly, cha- 
racteristic, however, of the Irish people, there was comparatively 
little blood shed during that first memorable week even in Fer- 
managh. With the sole exception of Enniskillen — which, for 
want of artillery, the Irish were unable to take — every town and 
fortress in the county was seized by the Maguires, the well-filled 
barns of the strangers furnished provisions for the patriot soldiers, 
and their owners were most terribly frightened by the wild and 
vengeful threats which those who uttered them had no iritention 
of carrying out. By a singular stretch of mercy and forbearance, 
English and Scotch Protestants were permitted to betake them- 
selves, which they did in droves, to the sheltering walls of Ennis- 
killen, Derry, or Carrickfergus, as the case might be, and in- 
stances were not wanting of their being allowed to take with them 
what valuables they could collect.* 

In Cavan the O’Reillys were up and stirring, but their warfare 
was marked by that calm, yet firm moderation, which we have 
seen manifested in the speech and bearing of their chief on his 
first introduction to the reader. When once his mind was made 
up on the necessity, as well as justice of the war, no man entered 
into its details more minutely, or carried out its operations with 
greater energy than he. Still the gentleness of his nature gave 
a peculiar character to his share of the military transactions oi 
the time, and even the most prejudiced Protestant historians bear 
honorable testimony to the clemency wherewith the O’Reillys ot 
Cavan tempered the horrors of civil war in their part of the 
country. With Philip, their worthy chief, was associated in 

* This was especially the case at one of the northern castles taken 
by Sir Phelim O’Neill, of much-slandered memory, on which occa- 
sion the occupants of the fort were seen in broad day carrying off 
with them trunks of rich clothing, plate, and even money, the Irish 
forces looking on without offering to molest them. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


91 


command liis cousin Miles O’Reilly, who, at the time of the nor- 
. them “ rising,” was High Sheriff of the county. This gentleman 
is specially mentioned as heading the first rising of the men of 
Brefihy, and his gallant spirit sustained and cheered them on 
through many a trying scene of the eleven years’ war. One of 
the first acts of the O’Reillys, after sending their quota to the 
general army, and taking possession of all the strongholds of 
their territory, was to restore the churches to their rightful 
owners, and this they did in the coolest and most business-like 
way imaginable. The usurping clergy were in every parish duly 
warned to quit without further notice, as the churches and glebes 
were required for the use of those whose fathers built them. 
Where any remonstrance was attempted or an appeal made to 
the pity of the unwelcome visitors, the latter generally cut the 
matter short with a peremptory order to pack up and go, saying it 
was only fair that they should have their turn of the hardship 
which God’s anointed ministers had been made to endure for ages 
by them and their friends. The example set by these high-souled 
Breffny men was quickly followed throughout the province ; the 
clergy of the people, hitherto wandering about on sufferance* 
amongst their flocks, were now publicly installed in the glebe- 
houses, and the churches, so long profaned by heretical worship, 
were purified and solemnly opened ag^ for the celebration of 
the divine mysteries. 

Thus within the second week after the rising, the whole aspect 
of affairs was changed in Ulster ; the native tribes were again in 
possession of the soil ; the fiags of their chieftains floated free 
over tower and town ; — Religion, so long occult and concealed, 
now raised her stately head as of old, and planted her royal 
standard on the high places — in Ulster, at least, she was again “ the 
city on the mountain” seen of all men ; — the Cross, her beloved 
emblem, for ages hidden away in the caverns of the earth and 
the inaccessible fastnesses of the hills, was now brought forth in 
triumph and placed on the steeples and on the altars, amid the 
exulting shouts of the faithful people, and the loud hosannas of 
the clergy. It was a proud day when Hugh O’Neill, primate of 
Ireland, stood once more at the altar of Pakick on the holy hill 
of Ardmacha, and when Hebor of Glogher appeared before tlio 


92 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


warlike clans of Uriel in full episcopal costume, and oCfered up 
for them in the cathedral which their own valor had recovered 
the divine sacrifice of the New Law. When we remember that 
these scenes were going on either simultaneously or in rapid suc- 
cession all over the northern province, while the heretical clergy 
who had so long usurped the ancient seats of piety were hud- 
dled together within the walls of the few fortresses remaining to 
their party in Ulster, we can imagine the wild enthusiasm of a 
people in whom the religious sentiment was stronger than all 
others, and in whose hearts the triumph or debasement of reli- 
gion was ever inseparably associated with that of their country. 

Of the chieftains who led the people almost everywhere to vic- 
tory during those eventful weeks. Sir Phelim O’Neill holds the 
first place — the traditional reverence in which the name was 
held, the position he occupied amongst the native chiefs, and, 
above all, the fiery and impulsive vehemence of his character — set 
down as valor by his compatriots — placed him just where he de- 
sired to be, at the head of the Ulster forces. He had established 
hfs head quarters at Newry, a day or two after the general mus- 
ter of the army, and thence he issued orders with supreme autho- 
rity, commanding and countermanding as occasion required with 
that ceaseless activity which belonged to his character. From 
the upper borders of BrefFny to the wild capes and headlands of 
Innisowen, from Slieve-Qullian and the Mourne Mountains, 
to the Western Marches, where Fermanagh stretched into Con- 
naught, Sir Phelim’s authority was recognized and his word 
obeyed as law ; at his command castles and forts were stormed 
and taken, protection given, withheld or withdrawn, supplies 
levied, and commissions issued. Others of the chiefs, associated 
with O’Neill, might have, and undoubtedly had, abilities superior 
to his, but so sincere was their general devotion to the cause that no 
petty jealousy appears to have arisen amongst them — had they 
not been united heart and soul as one man under one head, their 
fair province could not have thrown off the shackles of ages in 
one single week, giving an example to the sister-provinces which 
in due time they followed. 

Considering, then, the leading part which Sir Phelim O’Neill 
took in this magnificent revolution in the north, it is easy to un- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


93 


derstand the detestation with which he was regarded by the ge- 
neration of robbers whom he dispossessed — very uncivilly, no 
doubt — of the lands and livings from which the lawful owners 
had been driven out to make room for their fathers in a bygone 
age. It was very unpleasant, to be sure, for the bloated 
“ planters” of Ulster, to be forced to disgorge the six counties 
swallowed with so much unction in the days of bountiful King 
J ames, and little wonder it is if they looked upon Stout Phelim 
as a veryjingracious leech. Hence the massacres and wanton 
cruelties which they delighted to lay to his charge, magnified by 
the traditional hatred of their descendents into the blackest and 
most atrocious crimes, so that Phelim O’Neill is represented to 
the world as a monster stained by every crime that can disgrace 
humanity. That he had a heart-hatred of English tyranny, and 
resented with all the intensity of a fierce and passionate nature 
the system of spoliation and religious persecution of which his 
whole race had been for centuries the victims, is as true as that 
the eight or ten first days of the war so actively carried on by him 
in Ulster were marked by no massacre or even personal outrage 
beyond what was incidental to the violent transfer of a whole 
province from one set of masters to another. 

But, leaving this digression — which, after all, is no digression 
— let us see what has become of Rory O’Moore, and how the 
news of the Ulster rising is received in the other provinces. As 
yet all seemed quiet in Leinster, and the government proclama- 
tion, duly read in the proper places, and duly posted on church 
and other public doors, seemed to have the desired effect — the 
Palesmen were as peaceable and “ well-affected” towards the 
powers that were as even Parson’s heart could wish, when sud- 
denly the border parts of the south were found to be in quite an 
alarming commotion, and before the loyal could tell what it 
meant, within a mile or so of the then strong fortress of Ardee, 
almost within range of the guns, a suspicious gathering of the 
people was observed, occupying a decidedly suspicious position on 
the slope of one of the few hills in the vicinity — if hills we may 
call the occasional undulations of a vast plain. Rumors got 
afloat, and penetrated even to the English garrison of the castle, 
that one of the rebel leaders was there in person, and, in great 


94 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


excitement, the governor dispatched a troop of horse, under 
the command of his lieutenant. Sir John Netterville, to ascertain 
whether the report were true, and, in any case, to send the' 
people about their business, seeing that they had no business there. 

AVhen the yp.ung noble of the Pale approached the multitu- 
dinous assembly on the hill, he was much surprised to perceive 
them fully equipped with such arms as country people could 
improvise, to wit, pikes, bludgeons, scythes, and other such 
imsoldierly implements of warfare, and so unsightly did these 
appear that Netterville could not refrain from smiling, while his 
men laughed outright. There was that, however, in the resolute 
air of the peasants as they drew together at the approach of 
the cavalry, firmly grasping their formidable weapons, which 
instantly checked the unseasonable mirth of the soldiers, and 
made their leader himself look grave. He immediately ordered 
one of his troopers to the front with a white fiag, calling out 
himself at the same time ; 

“ Peace, peace, good people ! — we come not as enemies ! — ^who 
is in command amongst ye T’ 

“An old acquaintance of yours. Sir John Netterville!” said a 
gentleman in a Spanish hat and an Irish cloak, advancing from 
a farm-house in the centre of the crowd, the people giving way 
respectfully as he passed. It was no other than our friend 
Watty, the drunken sailor of the Liffey, though Perry would 
have had some difficulty in recognizing him, as he exchanged a 
graceful salute with the royal officer. 

“ What I Roger O’Moore ! or do mine eyes play me false V* 
the latter cried in amazement. 

“Surely no. Sir John!” said O’Moore with his bland smile; 

* methinks those gracious orbs of thine were much at fault, an’ 
they knew not my lineaments ! — ^how fares the good lord your 
father.” 

“Well in body, Roger,” replied Netterville with a meaning 
smile, “but wofully afflicted in spirit because of the doings of 
these — ahem 1” he stopped abruptly, and glanced at the motley 
array before him. 

“I understand you. Sir John,” said O’Moore in Irish, and 
ho spoke with a bitterness all unusual ; “ I heard of my lord 


THE CONFEDERATE CniEFTAINS. 


95 


Netterville, with the other chief men of the Pale, hastening 
many days since to offer their services at the Castle— they asked 
for arms, too, it would seem, to use against their poor country- 
men of the same faith, who are fighting their battle as well as 
their own — faugh ! they stink in our nostrils, those magnates of 
the Pale — for all many of them were my good friends and kins- 
men — inasmuch as that, with noble blood in their veins, and 
the profession of faith on their lips, they crouch like hounds at 
the feet of those who have wronged the Catholics of this nation 
beyond forgiveness, as beyond reparation — yea ! who are sworn 
to cut us off root and branch — ah ! Sir John Netterville ! I shame 
to hear of these craven doings, and trust me ! my heart is sore 
oppressed with grief to see you in such livery — you, of whom I 
had better hopes 1” 

“ So said my Lord Moore but yester-eve,” cried Sir John 
with a gay laugh, speaking fluently the same tongue. “ He and 
his family have betaken themselves to Drogheda for shelter — fear- 
ing, God wot, to trust the strength of his own walls— he seems to 
have no great opinion of my loyalty, for, as I was saying, he told me 
over night, as you did but now, that he had thought me a loyal 
gentleman and a true son of a noble father — i’faith an’ I am 

doubted on every side, I must e’en doubt myself ” 

. “ Sir John Netterville !” said O’Moore, advancing a step or two 
with outstretched hand, “ what am I to think — what brings you 
hither in such guise if, indeed, you be what my heart would 
fondly hope 1” 

“ Stand back, Roger ! not a step farther, an’ you value my head 
and your own ! For your thoughts of me, I would have them favor- 
able — ^vhat brought me hither was to disperse this tumultuous 
gathering — so the order runs— an’ you take a friend’s advice, ye 
will move from here, and thereby show that I did my errand — ^but 
hark you, Roger ! keep your men togetlier, and march north- 
ward— a little way beyond the borders into Farney — there let 
them remain in arms till you have concerted measures with those 
you know in the far north !” 

“ Thanks, Sir John, thanks! That course is surely safest and 
best — but you T’ 

“ Oh I leave me to my own wits” — and again Netternlle laughed 


96 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


as he turned his rein, and made a sign to his subordinates to rido 
on— “ suffice it for the present, that I feel as you do, and will act 
accordingly, when occasion serves, so help me God and my good 
patron St. John ! — nay, doubt me not, Roger ! — I have plans in 
my head of which you may hear ere long to your satisfaction — 
but name me not in the councils of your friends — the time is 
not yet come — farewell ! and I pray you to bear this in mind, 
that all the Catholic gentlemen of the Pale are not so pliant, or 
so oblivious of past and present wrong as my honored father 
and his peer^ would seem to he /” 

The last words were uttered in a tone so significant that 
O’Moore could not help laying them up for future refiection. 
One doubt, however, remained to be solved. 

“A word with you. Sir John,” he called after Netterville, in a 
subdued tone ; I am to conclude that your people do not un- 
derstand our language— but how is it that you seem to have no 
fear of exciting their suspicions by such lengthened parley with 
mer 

“Why, man! from the distance at which we stood,” said the 
other, riding back a few yards, “ they would have had good lugs 
an’ they heard what passed — for the rest I have no fears— not one 
of them would harm a hair of my head for Lord Moore’s estate I 
go your ways, Roger, and God have you in care till we meet 
again — by then you may know many for friends whom you now, 
perchance, esteem as foes !” 

“ Heaven grant it be so!” murmured O’Moore, as he gazed a 
moment after the gallant cortege, his eyes resting with pride and 
no small degree of hope on the light and graceful form of the 
young Norman noble. Many questions were by this time buzz- 
ing in his ears, from the curious and eager listeners around him, 
and to answer them satisfactorily he took the principal men 
amongst them into the farm-house before-mentioned, where, after 
a short consultation, the march into McMahon’s friendly country 
was agreed upon, until such time as orders could be received 
from head-quarters. It is needless to say that while 0’ Moore 
rode post-haste to join the northern chieftains at Newry, the 
sturdy Louth men were welcomed with joyful acclamation by 
their neighbors “ over the border,” in the Irish country, who 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 97 

naturally hailed their accession as the first instalment from the 
Pale. 

On his way from Ardee to Newry, O’Moore’s patriot heart was 
gladdened by the tidings that Longford and Leitrim were up in 
arms — Leinster and Connaught were at length stirred into action, 
though as yet only on their outskirts. “ I knew the O’Farrels 
^ would not long remain inactive,” said O’Moore to a Louth gen- 
tleman, who, with two of his followers, accompanied him to the 
camp ; “ I knew they would speedily snap their chain, for all 
their officious loyalty— loyalty, indeed ! defend us, heaven ! from 
the loyalty which is treason to our bleeding country! But the 
O’Farrels were in former times such very loyal gentlemen 
that they must' needs prove their adhesion to the government by 
fighting their best against Hugh O’Neill, for which, forsooth! 
they received government commendation, together ^ith a small 
matter of toleration, by virtue of which they have retained some 
shreds of their ancient patrimony — they have lately, as I hear, 
got some kicks and buffets from the Castle-folk, which, most 
like, spurred them on to make cause with us.” 

“Ay, marry !” said the Louth man, “ I have ever heard the O’Far- 
rels of Longford, marvellously well spoken of within the Pale — 
good Lord, Mr. O’Moore ! what may that mean P’ He pointed as 
he spoke to a bulky object suspended from a tree some twenty 
yards before them. O’Moore answered not, but rode forward at 
a more rapid pace, closely followed by the others, till he 
reached the object in question. It was the body of a man com- 
fortably clad in the English costume. 

“ It is e’en one of the blood-hounds of the law,” said O’Moore 
with indifference, that was partly assumed, “ and look !” point- 
ing to a printed paper on the breast of the corpse, “ look you, 
there is the insolent proclamation lately issued from the Castle 
— he would read it, doubtless, for some of these fierce border 
chieftains ! methinks that will be the last of such readings this 
side the march !” 

“ It is an awful sight !” said Callan, with a heavy sigh ; “ after 
all, Mr. O’Moore, war is a direful trade to take up !” — and he 
spurred Ms horse to a gallop so as to get out of sight of the 
hateful object. 

5a 


98 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


i 


“ What, man,” cried O’Moore, rather more sternly than was his 
wont, “ you must, ere now, be well used to such sights, or there 
be no ‘ Popish recusants’ in your country. I warrant me, these 
gallant gentlemen will teach them to dance to another tune ere 
long, and moreover, to keep their proclamations for those who 
value them !” 

They were here challenged by a warder from the battlements 
of a castellated building, some perches from the high road, and his 
husky voice made the Palesmen start. But O’Moore made an- 
swer quickly in Irish, telling who they were and on what business, 
when a prompt “ Pass on, in God’s name !” sent the travellers on 
their journey with renewed hope and confidence. Even the half- 
fearful Louth man exclaimed in a cheerful tone : “ Marry, but 
times are changing — something may come of it yet !’* 

“ Never €oubt it, man, never doubt it,” cried O’Moore, slap- 
ping him gaily on the shoulder ; “ every step you take now is on 
free soil, and by the time you reach O’Neill’s camp, you will be ' 
as sure of victory for our arms as I am !” 

While O’Moore and his companions were thus beguiling the 
weary way to Newry, exchanging friendly greetings ever and 
anon with straggling parties from O’Neill’s force, the brave 
O’Rourkes of Western BrefFny were rapidly clearing their an- 
cient territory of the savage brood of vipers Who had been so long 
preying on their life-blood. One of the most atrocious miscreants 
of the robber-race, Sir Frederick Hamilton, was, unhappily for 
that county, located in Leitrim, in the midst of princely posses- 
sions, which, of right, belonged to the plundered O’Rourkes, and 
his stately mansion of Manor Hamilton was nothing better than 
a den of marauders, who, under pretence of keeping the Papists 
in subjection, periodically issued forth and committed all manner 
of depredations (of which robbery was the least ofiensive) on the 
unoffending natives. Any attempt at resistance had hitherto but 
provoked still greater cruelty and oppression, for Hamilton and 
bis hell-hounds, as the people called them, were far too useful to 
the Lords Justices to be restrained in their harmless sport of rob- 
bing, torturing and murdering such illicit animals as native Papists. 
What fell out in Breffhy-O’Rourke in those days of retribution 
we shall presently see. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


99 


CIIAPTEll VIII. 

“The tyrannous and bloody act is done.” 

Shakspeare. 

“ The greatest attribute of Heaven is mercy, 

And ’tis the crown of justice and the glory, 

Whore it may kill with right to save with pity.” 

^ Beaumont and Fletcher. 

Tub torch of freedorn had shone but few days on the hills of 
Leitrim when, as in the neighboring counties of Ulster, the most 
brilliant success attended the bold attempts of the native tribes 
to recover their independence, or rather to free themselves from 
the iron fangs of the fanatic government, for it never entered into 
the heads of any amongst them to reject the authority of King 
Charles. Many of the chief strongholds of the country were 
already in possession of the O’Rourkes and other tribes of lesser 
note, but as yet no attempt had been made on Manor Hamilton, 
partly on account of the extreme terror in which its freebooting 
lord was held, and partly, because of the exaggerated ideas en- 
tertained regarding the strength of the fortress. 

But although this stronghold of fanaticism was still unassailed, 
many places of equal, or almost equal, importance were snatched 
from the enemy by the brave and chivalrous Owen O’Rourke, the 
chosen head of the Leitrim clans — chosen not more on account 
of his princely lineage than the admirable qualities of his head 
and heart. Handsome, like most of the chieftains of his race,* 

* Most of our readers are doubtless acquainted with the story of 
that O’Rourke of Breffny who, visiting London in the time of Queen 
Elizabeth, the R)yal virgin became so struck with his extraordinary 


. >. 




100 


THE CONFEDERATE ctllEFTAINS. 


brave as man could well be, accomplished in all the knightly arts 
of war, and withal generous in the highest degree, the O’Rourke 
of that day was a man who commanded the respect of all — even 
his enemies were forced to acknowledge his high deserts, while 
by his own party he was universally loved and esteemed. Such, 
then, was the man whom the fate of war opposed to the brutal 
and overbearing Hamilton in the wild guerilla warfare of that 
remote country. It so chanced that in capturing the various cas- 
tles and manor-houses of the county, many distinguished persons 
of both sexes had fallen into the hands of O’Rourke, and for 
some days these were entertained in the dwelling of the' chief 
with that princely hospitality which became his noble ancestry 
rather than his present fortune. Amongst the prisoners'were a 
few ladies of high rank, either belonging to, or connected with 
some of the first English families in Ireland. Now the terror 
with which these dames of quality had at first regarded the Irish 
chieftain speedily wore away in the genial infiuence of his pre- 
sence, surrounded as he was, too, by a most interesting family- 
circle — and what with the novelty of their situation, the polite 
attentions of the chieftain and his family, and the soothing strains 
of the old harper who nightly made his harp discourse most sweet 
music from an oaken settle in one of the wide chimneys of the 
great hall, the prisoners — at least the female portion'of them — 
almost forgot their captivity, and learned to love the chains which 
the chivalrous O’Rourke contrived to interweave with fiowers. • 

A week had fiown away — the number of English in the Castle 
was every day increasing, as fort after fort was taken by the 
sept, and yet no diminution in the respectful demeanor of the 
household, including often whole parties of the fiercest and most 
formidable of O’Rourke’s followers. The latter, in conformity 
with old customs, still took their place at the further end of the 

personal beauty that she conceived a violent passion for him, and long 
detained him near her. It is characteristic of the woman that when, 
after a time, her passion cooled, she much desired to have O’Rourke 
made away with ; and the ill-fated chieftain was accordingly brought 
to the seaSfold for some frivolous political pretext. This Teige was 
not the only one of his race distinguished for personal attractions. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


101 


spacious board extending the full length of the hall, the family 
and their guests occupying the dais or raised portion at the 
upper end. 

It was the middle of November and the wild northern blast 
was sweeping angrily over the frost-clad hills and moors around 
the Castle, when about midday word was brought the chieftain 
that his brother had been taken prisoner that morning by a party 
of Sir Frederick Hamilton’s horse. At first a chillness like that 
of death crept over the stout warrior, for imprisonment in the 
gloomy vaults of Manor Hamilton was, to a Catholic, sure to end 
in death — most likely a death of torture and ignominy. 

“ Great God !” cried Owen O’Rourke, the cold sweat oozing 
from every pore of his body, “ can it be true that my own — my 
only brother — the brother who is to me more than a son — ^that 
my fair-haired Tiernan is in the power of that blood-thirsty 
demon I — an’ it be so, his chance of life is not worth a straw !” 

Suddenly a gleam of hope illumined the darkness of the chief- 
tain’s soul, and he bounded from his seat with the lightness of a 
mountain-deer. “ Glory and honor to thy name, my God !” he 
said almost aloud as he darted to the chamber of his wife to com- 
municate the tidings but late so heart-rending, now of less pain- 
ful import. 

“ Bad news were mine to tell you, Eveleen !” said Owen as he 
threw himself on a cushioned bench beside his still lovely mate, 
“ were it not for one thing.” 

“ How now, Owen,” his wife exclaimed with a look of anxious 
surprise ; “ there be much in your words and more in your eyes 
— what has fallen out I” 

“ Our Teague is a prisoner in the hands of Hamilton !” 

“ Holy St. Bridget! Owen! can that be true I” and the lady 
crossed herself devoutly, “ an’ it be, I marvel at your gaiety !” 
f “So you might, sweetheart, an’ I were thus lightsome without 
good cause. Bethink you of the number of persons of prime 
quality who are prisoners here with us — ^lia ! you smile now — the 
rose returns to your cheek — yes, Eveleen, my faithful wife, let 
us thank the Lord of hosts who lias placed these dames and gen- 
tlemen in our hands, for they are hostages for the safety of our 


102 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


brother ! — ^giving them, we shall receive him ! Rejoice with me, 
oh my beloved !” 

But Eveleen did not, could not rejoice. A dark presentiment 
of evil took possession of her mind, and fears, which she might 
not utter, lay heavy on her soul. She strove to appear as though 
she shared her husband’s hopes, but beneath the assumed cheei*- 
fulness of her outward showing lay the fearful thought that the 
generous, high-hearted youth, whom all the Clan O’Rourke look- 
ed up to as their future chief, was in the power of an incarnate 
fiend who seemed to revel in bloodshed as the joy of life. 

Neither were the gentlemen of his kindred so sanguine as their 
chief, regarding Tiernan’s safety, and if O’Rourke had taken their 
advice he would have assembled all his forces, and marched at 
once to storm Manor Hamilton. But the chieftain was confident, 
having, as he supposed, the guarantee of his brother’s safety in 
his own hands, while, on the other hand, it was his opinion that a 
sudden attack on a fortress which, without artillery, they could 
hardly hope to take, would but exasperate Hamilton and perhaps 
accelerate the catastrophe which by fair means he hoped to avert. 

A messenger bearing a flag of truce and accompanied by a suit- 
able escort was accordingly sent without loss of time to Manor 
Hamilton to inform Sir Frederick that Owen O’Rourke having in 
his custody a number of prisoners of high standing amongst the 
English of the Pale, and having just learned that his brother 
Tiernan O’Rourke had been captured that morning by a troop of 
cavalry from the Manor, he was willing to deliver all the prison- 
ers before-mentioned into Sir Frederick’s hands without ransom 
or other condition than his brother’s release. 

Sir Frederick stood on the battlements surrounded by his 
archers to hear O’Rourke’s message. As he listened, a smile of 
savage ferocity gleamed on his swarthy face, and his great black 
eyes shone with a lurid light. 

“ Ho ! ho !” he laughed, and his laugh rang strangely out on 
the moaning wind ; “ho ! ho ! release his brother — ay ! marry 
will I — !t were hard to refuse the first favor so good a neighbor 
ever asked of me. Where be your chieftain now 

“ Ht waits our return some miles hence at the Haunted Hollow.” 

“ And the prisoners ?” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


103 


“ They are of his company there, Sir Frederick, ready to make 
the exchange forthwith.” 

“ Pity it is to have such noble dames sliivering in the blast. 
What, ho ! there, bring up the prisoner O’Rourke ” 

“ Is it your pleasure. Sir Frederick,” said Manus O’Rourke 
through his trumpet, “ is it yom- pleasure that we bring the Eng- 
lish prisoners hither 1” 

“ A.S ye will, — stay first to have a sight of your pretty Tanist — ■ 
bless the boy !” he jeeringly added as the youthful warrior was 
brought before him by a winding staircase leading from the don- 
jon-vault. “ A nice captain, forsooth, for savage rebels.” 

A joyful shout from the O’Rourkes beyond the moat hailed 
the appearance of their young lord, who turned and smiled his 
grateful recognition. Sign he could not make, for his hands 
were closely manacled. He was going to speak, however, for 
he advanced a step or two towards the parapet, his soul-lit face 
beaming with the joy of seeing friends once more, but suddenly 
his eye caught sight of some strange preparations going on 
amongst the brutal soldiers near him, and the words died on his 
lips. 

Having once seen him, and being naturally anxious to have 
him again in their own safe keeping, the faithful clansmen were 
moving hastily away, in order to bring the English prisoners, 
when an agonized voice of entreaty reached their ears, high 
above the wail of the wintry blast. It was that of Tieman 
O’Rourke — their hearts told them so — and the words it uttered 
were “ For God’s sake, stay !” 

Manus O’Rourke and his little party turned quickly back, 
and again faced the fortress just in time to see their idohzed 
young Tanist launched from the lofty parapet, his body swinging 
in mid-air above their heads, his death-shriek drowned in a yell 
of savage mockery from Hamilton and his brutal archers. Alas I 
the presence of his clansmen, so urgently invoked, afforded no 
protection to the unhappy victim — they had the horror of wit- 
nessing his murder without the power of doing aught on his 
behalf, when there was not a man amongst tliem who would not 
have given his heart’s blood to save him. It was a fiendish device, 
worthy of Hamilton himself, to secure such witnesses for such a 


104 


TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


spectacle. And oh ! the a^ony which wning those faithful hearts 
as with a wild shriek they covered their faces to avoid the mad- 
dening sight ! Rage and despair filled their souls, and for a mo- 
ment they could think of nothing but the dread calamity which 
had come upon them. They were speedily aroused from this 
torpor by the harsh voice of Hamilton overhead : 

“ Why dally ye now, men of Breflhy I— surely ye have got 
your message !” 

“ Ah ! you devil’s limb !” cried Manus as loudly as his choking 
passion would permit. “ There will come a day for this — an’ 
you had a thousand lives we’ll have them all — they say the devil 
has you bodily, but if all his legions took your part, we’ll have 
revenge for this deed — ay, for every hair in Tieman’s head !’* 

“ Go to h — 1 !” shouted Hamilton; “ an’ ye remain a moment 
longer, these fellows will send ye a shower of arrows — ^but stay, 
ye shall have Tiernan home with ye in regard to the prisoners 
whom your chief holds !” 

Before the bewildered followers of O'Rourke could guess his 
meaning, the rope was severed above, and down amongst them 
came the lifeless body of poor Tieman. Reverently an(J with 
tender care the precious remains were placed in front of Manus 
on the horse, and clasping the corpse close to his bosom, that 
faithful vassal slowly turned and rode away, followed by his 
comrades, each one of whom registered a vow in his inmost 
heart that Hamilton should suffer for that day’s work if the 
Lord spared them life. 

Shouts of derisive laughter from the battlements followed the 
mournful cavalcade on its way. Once, and once only, Afaiius 
turned his head. 

“Ye may laugh now,” he said sternly, “ at the load you have 
given us to carry home, but remember, Hamilton, we can send 
you ten to one !” 

’ An arrow whizzed past his head as he spoke, missing its fatal 
aim by little more than a straw’s breadth ; following its slanting 
course, it struck his horse in the neck, but happily, with little 
hurt to the animal, its force being well nigh spent ere it reached 
him. 

“ Ride on, my comrades,” said Manus quickly, “ or the hell- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


105 


hounds will not leave a soul of us to bear these woful tidings ! 
— ^ride on for Tiernan’s sake that we may live to revenge, since 
we could not save him ! Woe for our valiant chief this day, and 
woe, woe for us who bear him such a burden !” 

The responsive wail which burst from the mourning band was 
kept up with little intermission till they came within sight ot 
the towering oaks which clothed the sides of the Haunted Hol- 
low. Bare, and bleak, and gaunt they were as they waved and 
shivered in the blast, but still they afforded a sort of shelter to 
the cloaked and hooded forms of the English ladies who were 
seated on palfreys belonging to various members of the family 
of O’Rourke. Their male companions were no less decently 
mounted, and all seemed well satisfied with the treatment they 
had received from their Irish captors. Little cared the bold 
clansmen of O’Rourke for the blustering blast, and they would 
not long have confined themselves to the limits of the dell, were 
they not kept there by duty as a guard to the prisoners. They 
were all more or less sharers in the anxiety with which their 
chief kept watch for the return of his messengers, and the delay 
of Manus and his companions excited no small discontent. 
O’Rourke him^self was becoming impatient, and had just resolved 
to move nearer to Manor Hamilton for the purpose of expedi- 
ting the joyful meeting to which he looked forward. He had 
barely intimated his intentions to the prisoners — who, to say the 
truth, seeme.i no way anxious to bo delivered to Hamilton, 
whose character was well nigh as odious amongst those of his 
own race and creed as it was amongst the Irish — when his quick 
ear caught the distant sound of wailing in the very direction 
from which he expected his own people. His attendants, too, 
heard the mournful sound, and a simultaneous rush was made to 
the mouth of the glen, all looking at each other with ghastly faces, 
but no one daring to give utterance to the fearful thought which 
filled heart and brain. But near and still nearer came the dismal 
sound, faintly heard at times in the louder howling of the blast, 
then rising to a wild cry when the winds were still a moment. 

“ It is — it is,"' cried O’Rourke at last, and a paleness like that 
of death came over his handsome features; “it is our own 
5 * 


106 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


moiTte— oh, Tiernan ! oh, my brother ! Heaven grant it be well 
with you 

A few moments more of racking suspense, amounting to all 
but certainty of coming evil, and on the brow of a hill, scarce a 
hundred yards distant, Manus and his party were seen advancing 
with that funereal slowness which denoted the presence of death, 
while louder and wilder rose the dirge as though to give warn- 
ing of what had happened. 

By this time even the strangers had noticed the change in the 
demeanor of those around them, and as most of them were 
either Irish by birth or had lived long enough on Irish soil to 
know the peculiar customs of the natives, they were at no loss 
to associate the visible agitation of the chief and his followers 
with the now distinct death-cry. As their own fate was just then 
interwoven with that of the young O’Rourke, they, too, becamo 
fearfully anxious to know whether evil had befallen him in his 
dangerous captivity. 

Notwithstanding O’Rourke’s previous intention of advancing to 
meet his messengers, he now stood still as a statue, his eyes 
fixed with stony immobility on the approaching cortege. One of 
his kinsmen suddenly laid his hand on the chieftain’s arm, and 
asked in a thrilling whisper what the load might be that Manus 
carried so carefully. 

“ I know not, but I partly guess. Philip !” said O’Rourke half 
unconsciously, and not another word was spoken till the party 
from Manor Hamilton approached. With a scream of anguish 
Owen O’Rourke threw himself from his horse, and received in his 
arms the cold, stark body of his fair haired Tiernan, his one bro- 
ther, the swollen and distorted features hardly recognizable, alas I 
not at all, save to the unerring eye of agonized afiection. 

“ I knew it !” murmured the wretched brother as he clasped 
the beloved remains to his bosom and gazed with tearless eyes on 
the face but late so beautiful, now so revolting ; “I knew it — 
something told me it was for you, Tiernan ! for you, brother of 
my heart ! that the sons of Brefihy raised the cry ! — oh, Manus ! 
Manus ! where were you — where were all the others — oh ! God ! 
where were we all — all — ^when Tiernan O’Rourke was butchered V* 

“ My eyes saw the deed done,” was Manus’s stern reply, “ and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


107 


I shame to live and tell it — but blame us not, my chief ! blame 
not your faithful clansmen, for the height of Hamilton’s accursed 
battlements was between us and the incarnate fiends who did it — 
from that height, O’Rourke, was he flung to our arms even as 
you see him — think then if we could save him — ^no, we could not, 
but we can avenge him — we have sworn it every man of us !” 

O’Rourke, sunk in a lethargy of woe, heeded no more what ' 
was passing round him; neither the vengeful threats, nor the 
moans and lamentations of his retainers, the increasing wildness of 
the storm, nor aught but his own misery noted he. The first 
sound of which he was conscious was a vehement appeal to himself 
by name from his EngUsh prisoners, and raising his head sud- 
denly he saw Manus and some others of his men engaged in the 
singular work of suspending their leathern girdles in the form 
of nooses from the branches of the trees above them. Manus 
appeared to bo directing operations generally, for, having reck- 
oned the number of nooses already arranged, he called for three 
more, 

“ There are nine of them,” said he, “ and we may as well string 
them all up at once.” 

“Manus,” cried O’Rourke, “what, in God’s name, are you 
about V* 

“ Why, making ready to hang the prisoners, to be sure — ^wo 
have no place at home better than this, and it be nearer the 
Manor for the sending of them to Hamilton.” 

“ Take down those belts !” was the chieftain’s stern rejoinder, 

“ and go make a litter of branches without loss of time that we 
may take my brother home !” 

Some of his men went immediately to execute the latter com- 
mand, but the order regarding the girdles was not so promptly 
obeyed. The clansmen looked at each other, and then at their 
chief, then furtively eyed the prisoners with no very friendly 
aspect. 

“ Chief of the Clan O’Rourke !” said Manus with a sullenness, not ’ 
his own ; “ do you, or do you not, mean to revenge your brother’s 
blood r’ 

“I do, and if life is spared me I will,” said O’Rourke, 


108 


TUB CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


‘but not by mwrder, Manus, not by the murder of innocent 
persons ” 

“ An’ their lives are worth anything,” said Manus still unconvinc- 
ed ; “ it is to their own they be of value — when Hamilton sdt no store 
on them, why should we 7 — what wore five score of them to us com- 
pared with him who lies there ? Owen O’Rourke, mine eyes saw 
him hung — ^hung like a dog — ay ! even Tiernan, the pride of 
our name — these arms caught him when he was fiung like rotten 
carrion from their walls, when they had worked their devilish 
will on him. I told Hamilton we would have revenge — and first of 
all send him back our prisoners in such wise as he sent his — I tell 
you, now, that with my good will these dainty Englishers shall 
never go to him with life. Men of Brefihy, what say ye 

“ Blood for blood !” was the fierce response from every man 
of O’Rourke’s party. “An’ every one of them had as many 

lives, let the nine die as did our Tanist ! ” 

“ Justice ! justice on the Hamilton brood !” 

“ Mr. O’Rourke !” said a venerable gentleman of the prisoners, 
Sir Robert Hanna by name, “ Mr. O’Rourke, your people are in 
error — I thank God there is no connection of any kind whatso- 
ever between any one of us here present and this bloody-minded 
man, Hamilton ! Whether you carry your generosity so far as to 
send us to our friends — for what ransom you may please to name 
— or whether you yield us to the vengeance of your people — and 
assuredly their demand is not unnatural — ^but be that as it may, 
I beseech you, noble sir, to believe all of our company your 
humble debtors, and, as in duty bound, much grieved for the 
heavy woe which has come upon your house !” 

“ I believe you, Sir Robert,” said O’Rourke sadly, “ and you 
say truly — this is a heavy woe ! — still no harm must come to 
you or yours because of it — God forbid ! Manus ! as the near- 
est of kin, to you will I give this precious charge to bear 

homeward ” 

“ And you, our chief 1” 

“ I, with Philip and ten more of our party, will see these 
strangers safe to the Manor — at least within sight of it.” There 
was a quiet dignity in Owen’s manner that impressed even his 
equals, and inspired his clansmen with a feeling deeper than 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


109 


respect. Independent of his authority, his word had absolute 
power over them, because of the high qualities of which they 
saw him possessed, amongst others a certain firmness of purpose, 
amounting at times to sternness. There was a meaning in his 
words and in his looks which his followers well understood, and 
notwithstanding that their own convictions remained unshaken, 
and the fierce instinct of their warlike nature urged them to per- 
sist in their clamorous cry for what they considered justice as 
well as revenge, still there was no resisting the stern command 
and the still sterner look of their chief. 

“ Be it as you will, O’Rourke !” said Manus, spokesman for the 
rest, but his lowering brow and sullen tone showed the struggle 
which it cost him to obey. 

Meanwhile the litter was prepared, and the body of the young 
Tieman being carefully placed upon it, was slowly conveyed 
homewards, amid the renewed lamentations of the brave clans- 
men who had so often followed him to danger, both by fiood and 
field. When the final moment came, O’Rourke, with all his 
firmness, looked irresolute, as it became necessary to turn his 
back on the body of liLs murdered brother. 

“ Manus,” said he, “ I have never known you to deceive or 
disobey me in aught. May I trust you to convey these prisoners 
safe to Manor Hamilton 1” 

“ At your bidding, Owen, I will do it, though my heartstrings 
broke asunder, to do that which may pleasure Hamilton. You 
may trust me, Owen MacBryan.” 

Some of the prisoners looked aghast at the prospect of such an 
escort, for whatever might be Owen’s confidence in his kinsman 
they had but too much reason to shrink from being left ip his power. 
One of the ladies, a stately matron of mature years, was on the 
point of imploring the chieftain either to keep thein in his own 
hands till such time as they could communicate with their friends, 
or, if not that, to carry out his original purpose of conveying them 
himself to Manor Hamilton, the only fort within many miles then 
in the hands of the English, but Sir Robert Hanna, better under- 
standing the people with whom they had to deal, gave her an 
admonitory look, and hastily addressed the chief. 

“ Your pleasure is ours, Mr. O’Rourke ! — we have seen enough 


no 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


of your gallant clansmen since we came into your hands, to trust 
our lives to their honor — cold-blooded murder is foreign to their 
nature, we feel assured. Therefore, good Mr. Manus, we are 
ready to idace ourselves in your keeping, though'well content 
with our treatment in the hospitable halls of Drumahair, and no 
ways anxious to see the inner parts of Manor Hamilton, which 
house is not in over good repute amongst honest or peaceable 
men, even of our own nation. But, concerning the ransom, Mr. 
O’Rourke, in what way can we send it that it may come safe to 
your hands in these unhappy times 1” 

“Name it not, I pray you. Sir Robert!” said the princely 
O’Rourke, waving his hand with a commanding air ; “ the chief- 
tain of Brefifny were hard driven, an’ he could not afford to be 
generous without hope of reward. An’ ye feel yourselves under 
an obligation to me or mine, you may have occasion during these 
troublesome times to discharge it by a similar act of kindness to 
some poor Irish prisoners who may, perchance, stand much in 
need of your good offices. By saving from death or torture even 
one poor kern or gallowglass of ours, ye will render to O’Rourke 
the ransom he most esteems. Go now with my best wishes for 
your safe and speedy arrival in your own homes, and may ye find 
them far otherwise than the desolate home of O’Rourke !” 

“ And fee it our prayer, most generous and noble sir,” said the 
lady before mentioned, who was indeed the daughter of Sir 
Robert Hanna, “ be it our prayer to the throne of grace that the 
chances of war may never throw us into worse hands than those 
of the chieftain of Brefihy ! This is the second priceless boon 
for which I and mine are indebted to the nobles of your nation, — 
it will go hard with me an’ one bittey enemy, at least, be not 
softened towards you. If Sir ” 

A simultaneous sign from the chieftain and her father arrested 
the name hovering on the lady’s lips, and O’Rourke, by an almost 
imperceptible gesture, urged immediate departure. A last cour- 
teous salute was exchanged between the chieftain imd his late 
prisoners, and then the parties dividing took their separate way. 

Few words passed between Manus and the hberated prisoners. 
He and his men were dark and sullen to the last degree, yet nor 
word nor sign gave any amongst them, during the miles which 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Ill 


they had to traverse, of any ill intent towards those whom they 
had in charge. When, at length, they came in sight of the towers 
of the fortress, and Sir Robert, on the part of himself and his 
friends, offered them a sum of money, the offer was sternly, con- 
temptuously rejected. 

“ No, no, Sassenach !” cried Manus, with passionate warmth, 
“ not so — gift from you would dye our hands crimson — it were 
hlood-money, 0 stranger ! which men of Breffney might not take, 
and live !” 

Such were Manus’s parting words, as he shortly turned and 
rode away, unwilling to remain longer in sight of a place for ever 
hateful to him and his. 





J12 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ It was no fire from heaven he saw, 

For, far from hill and dell, 

O’er Gobbin’s brow the mountain flaw 
Bears musket-shot and yell, 

And shouts of brutal glee that tell 
A foul and fearful tale. 

While over blast and breaker swell 
Thin shrieks and woman’s wail. 

“ Now fill they far the upper sky, 

Now down mid air they go. 

The frantic scream, the piteous cry. 

The groan of rage and woe ; 

And wilder in their agony 

And shriller still they grow — 

Now cease they, choking suddenly, 

The waves boom on below.” 

Samuel Ferguson.' 


It was a wild bitter night in the early part of November,— it 
might have been about the very day so loved of English mobs, 
when the veritable Guy Fawkes appears again at their bidding 
in all the dark-laiithorn horrors of his Popish identity. The winds 
were whistling drearily over the snow-clad earth along the bleak 
shore of Antrim, and the billows of that boisterous sea were lash- 
ing the dark spectral rocks with as much fury as though they 
gave vent to some stormy passion long pent up within their secret 
depths. The gloomy towers of Carrickfergus rose dark and mas- 
sive at no great distance, and the ancient town w-^hich nestles in 
their shadow lay silent, and, as it were, wrapped in slumber around 
the huge old fortress. A wild pastoral tract of land inhabited at 
that time chiefly by fishermen, shepherds and goatherds, stretched 
out for miles into the sea from the near neighborhood of the city. 
It is a long, narrow peninsula, girded on one side by a range of 
rocks whose crags assume the strangest and most weird shapes 
imaginable. These are known to the country round as the Gob- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


113 


bin Cliffs, and many a tale of superstitious horror is connected in 
the minds of the surrounding peasantry with their jutting shelves 
and gloomy caves. Superstition has ever had a fitting home 
amongst these geological phantoms of the coast, and bold were 
the man or woman esteemed who would venture after nightfall 
within their haunted precincts. 

It was at all times a dismal sound, or rather a chorus of dismal 
sounds, to hear, when the winds rushed to and fro amidst the 
clefts and caverns of the Gobbins, but on that dark stormy No- 
vember night in the memorable year of *41 there came such 
unearthly cries, and groans, and screams from amid the haunted 
cliffs that it seemed as though a thousand demons were doing 
their accursed will on myriads of tortured souls. 

“ God bless us all, it is a fearful night !” ejaculated in the Irish 
tongue a patriarchal old man, who, in the simple luxury of humble 
life, occupied a straw-backed chair of ample dimensions in the 
right-hand chimney-corner of a small cottage about midway on 
the peninsula, and so close to the rocks that not a sound from 
thence escaped the ears of its inmates. 

“You may say that. Corny !” responded his aged dame, who in 
high-cauled cap and kerchief white sat directly opposite plying 
her wheel. “ It is a fearful night sure enough — God pity all poor 
souls who are at sea in weather like this !” And in her sympa- 
thy for those who were so perilously exposed, old Rosh Magee 
looked round with a grateful heart on the snug and cozy little 
spot which contained at that moment all her nearest and dearest, 
to wit, her venerable partner before mentioned and a numerous 
family of sons and daughters of every age between thirty and 
eighteen, — the latter a blooming, bright-eyed lass who seemed 
on the high road to matrimony, judging by the tender glances of 
unmistakeable meaning interchanged between her and an indi- 
vidual whose leathern girdle displayed on its c’asp the well- 
known cognizance of the Red Hand as his voice was marked by 
the peculiar intonation of the “ land of Owen.” 

“ God grant there be none on sea to-night making their way 
to ws/” said the follower of O’Neill. “An’ there be, granny, I’d 
offer up a Pater and Ave myself for all sea-faring people, though 
the devils in Dublin above may be getting help too !” 


114 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS 


“ Shamus aroon !” said old Corny with a fatherly smile, “ thero 
be nothing in your head but the wars. But, sure, agra! we 
needn’t wonder at that — it’s as natural for Tyrone men to fight 
as it is for a fish to swim. Our boys here be not much better, 
an’ they had their way, though God only knows how they got 
such wild notions in their heads — except they come down to 
them from tlieir grandfather — God rest him ! who was out with 
the great Hugh. For my part, I declare I never had any turn 
that way, and I’m sure I’d make a poor hand at a scrimmage 
“To be sure you would now, father,” said his eldest son, a 
fine young man of some eight-and-twenty or thereabouts, and his 
eyes twinkled with sly meaning. 

“ Any time, Phelim ! — any time, even the youngest day 
ever I was, I’d run a mile of ground sooner than I’d see 
blood shed — ^the Lord be praised, they say there’s not many lives 
lost yet since these troubles began — that’s a great thing entirely, 
for if we could get our rights civilly and peaceably, it would bo 
a blessing from God. But sure, sure that’s what we needn’t 
expect anyhow ! — the Lord save us, children, did you ever hear 
such fearsome cries from the cMflfs abroad 1” 

“ It’s for all the world. Corny,” said Shamus Beg, for Aileen’s 
favored suitor was none other than that notable person, who hav- 
ing some relations in that neighborhood made an excuse to go 
there occasionally ; “ it’s for all the world as if every Banshee in 
Ireland was gathered about the Gobbins this night — or maybe 
they’re spirits from beyond the water crying the Englishers that 
are to fall in these wars.” 

“ Or witches from Scotland, Shamus,” suggested Aileen with 
her mirthful smile ; “who knows but they followed the Scotch 
red-coats here abroad in the Castle — Christ save us,” she added, 
with a shudder, “ they have a bad look about them — the same 
red-coats — ^myself never meets one of them when I go into 
town with eggs or butter, or anything that way, but I feel in a 
hurry to get past him — a kind of a weakness comes over mo 
somehow—isn’t it strange, mother dear 
“ Take me with you, when you go,” said Shamus jocosely, 
“though I’m in hopes it isn’t long they’ll be in it to frighten you 
— ^we’U scatter the nest some of these days and make the place 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


115 


too hot for them as we did at Charlemont and Dungannon, 
and all the rest of them. When the money, and the big guns, 
and everything comes to us from foreign parts— and that will be 
soon now, please the Lord ! — you’ll see how we’ll send Monroe 
and his villainous looking cut-throats about their business — just 
wait a little, Aileen, and it’s me and the like of me you’ll see 
mounting guard at the Castle within, and maybe it’s myself 
won’t be watching for the pretty girls coming in and out with 
baskets on their arms, when I’m standing at the gates with 
my musket at my shoulder — and the boys here — faith we’ll 
make corporals and sergeants of them at the very start — eh, 
Rosh 1 — won’t them be the times — and you and Corny and the 
girls will be coming in to Mass, Sundays and holidays, to our 
darling fine chapel where the blackguard Scotch ministers spend 
their time on God’s holy day cramming murder and robbery and 
all sorts of wickedness again Catholics down the throats of their 
hearers ! Lham derg aboo ! but it’s ourselves will send them 
where they came from in double quick time, when once we get 
the cannon!” 

The caper which Shamus cut at the conclusion of this har- 
angue made the girls laugh, but the young men, catching a share 
of his enthusiasm, swallowed every word with avidity, and testi- 
fied by unequivocal signs their intense desire to be with and of 
that grand army of Sir Phelim’s which was doing, and would 
yet do, such wonders on behalf of the oppressed Catholics. 
Seeing this, the old couple took the alarm at once, and Corny 
hastened to put a damper on the martial ardor of his sons. 

“ War is a fine thing,” he observed with a discouraging shake 
of the head, “ when people have it all their own way, and so long 
as it stays far off— but God keep it away from us, that’s all I 
say 1” 

“ Why, Corny, man !” cried Shamus, more than a little nettled 
by this show of indifierence— which, had he seen the old man’s 
heart, ho would have placed to its proper account, viz., the 
natural affection of the father struggling with the hopes and 
wishes of the patriot— “ why. Corny, man, what’s come over you 
at all— you talk for all the world like one of the Sassenachs in 
the Pale above— sure you ought to know as well as we do that 


IIG 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


there’s nothing left for us but to fight the battle out— things 
could’nt go on as they were— every one knows that— and. as I 
have heard Rory O’Moore, and Sir Phelim, and other great, long- 
headed men saying a hundred times over, fair means were tried 
long enough, and when they didn’t do, — when things were get- 
ting worse from day to day in place of better, what could the 
people do, or the chiefs —tell me that, now. Corny V' This was a 
“ clincher,” and the old man having no such answer ready as ho 
would willingly give, hesitated and looked at Rosh, as though 
expecting aid from her in so great an emergency, while Shamus 
glanced around with a triumphant air to gather the suffrages of 
his younger auditors, all of whom, but especially the young men, 
appeared to enjoy the old man’s discomfiture. 

But Rosh was a powerful auxiliary, a host in herself, and she 
stopped her wheel to pronounce her opinion, which she did in a 
very dictatorial manner : 

“ I never want to see the face of a soldier, Shamus Beg — do 
you hear that now 1 And it’s thankful I’d be if youM leave your 
game-cock notions behind you when you come to Island Magee 
— where you’re always welcome only to do as I tell you — the 
wars are keeping away well from us, thanks be to God for that 
same ! and I tell you what it is, Shamus, as long as they let us 
alone, we’ll let them alone ! Girls ! isn’t it time some of you was 
seeing about the supper 1 Shamus will be none the worse for 
something to eat !” 

These words put Aileen and her sister Cauth in motion, and 
under their hospitable cares, Shamus’s wants would doubtless 
have been well provided for, but the meal they went about pre- 
paring was never ready,— the oaten cakes which Aileen’s taper 
fingers shaped and placed before the peat fire were never tasted 
by Shamus, nor yet the fresh eggs which Cauth put down to 
boil, for, just as their culinary labors had reached that stage, a 
roaring, rushing sound swept past on the land side, screams of 
anguish and of terror were heard mingling with shouts of wrath 
and execrtition, and the clashing of sharp weapons and the report 
of musketry or other fire-arms — all near enough to be distinctly 
audible in Corny Magee’s cottage, the terrified inmates of which 
started to their feet and held their breath to listen. 


THE CONFED^JRATE CHIEFTAINS. 


117 


“ Rosh!” said Sharaus Beg in a hurried whisper, “if the trou- 
bles never came before, they’re on you now — God in heaven save 
ye all !” 

“ Why, Shamus, dear,” cried the old man, “ what can it bo at 
all 1 Oh Lord ! — oh Lord ! hear them shrieks — oh Rosh ! — oh 
children ! what will we do — what will we do, if it’s the bloody 
Scotch red-coats that are out 1” And the old man wrung his 
hands in piteous agony, while his aged wife fell on her knees be- 
fore a rude picture of the Virgin which graced the wall near her. 

“ As sure as God’s in heaven. Corny, it’s them and no other,” 
again whispered Shamus, whose practised ear had already dis- 
tinguished the foreign tongue amid the horrible din of slaughter 
Avhich came every moment nearer. 

“ Father,” said the eldest son Phelim, as he shudderingly 
glanced at his old mother and his fair blooming sisters, “ father, 
it were not so bad to be a soldier now — a score or two of the 
O’Neills or Magennises with pikes in their hands Avere worth their 
weight in gold this night.” 

“ Alas ! alas !” groaned Shamus, “ if Sir Phelim did but know 
of this — but och ! there’s many a long mile between him and us 
this miserable hour — oh holy St. Columb ! hear ye that '? Why, 
they’re not a hundred yards off ! — oh! the treacherous, bloody 
villains to come in the night and murder all before them without 
rhyme or reason — creatures, too, that never done or said them 
ill — boys 1 boys ! have ye no arms of any kind P’ Re cried in 
despair as the tumult came rushing on. No weapon either 
offensive or defensive did the house contain, but each of the four 
sons laid hold of some household implement Avhich might answer 
the purpose — even the old man snatched with the energy of des- 
I)air a sickle from under the thatch, and placed himself with his 
sons in front of the trembling, fainting group of females, his 
shaking hand clutching "the weapon with a desperation that Avas 
fearful to look upon. 

“ 1 tell you all,” cried Shamus wildly, “ that there’s no earthly 
use in your staying here — you’d be butchered, every soul of you, 
like sheep — and even that Avere perchance not the Avorst of it I” 
Ilis heart sickened at the hideous thought that presented itself to 
his mind, and seizing Aileen by the arm, he opened the back- 


/ 


118 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


door— which ho knew led to the shore — calling on the others to 
follow for life or death. 

“ There may yet be time to get among the rocks,” he muttered, 
as, clasping the sinking form of Aileen he dashed out — not into 
the darkness he fondly hoped to find, but a light more glaring than 
that of day, the lurid light from homesteads burning in all direc- 
tions. At this sight a wild shriek burst from one of the aflfrighted 
damsels, and old Rosh dropped on the threshold. 

“ Mother of God! we’re done for now!” whispered Shamus in 
despair, and still holding fast by Aileen, he seized the benumbed 
and paralyzed old man by the arm, and attempted to drag him 
onwards. But Corny would not go without Rosh, and jerking 
himself out of Shamus’s grasp with a strength and agility little 
to be expected from his seeming frailty, he stooped over the 
senseless partner of forty years, and with the help of one of his 
sons had succeeded in raising her to a sitting posture, when a 
wild shriek from some of the fugitives made them start, and 
roused the old woman to sudden consciousness. It was only to 
see her husband and son struck down by the butt end of two 
muskets, and the next instant her scream of agony was silenced 
by a bayonet thrust down her throat — she fell back a lifeless 
corpse against the wall of her cottage, her snowy, kerchief crim- 
soned with her own blood and that of her aged husband. Shouts 
of fiendish laughter followed, as some half dozen of the murder- 
ers trampling over the dead bodies rushed to set fire to the house, 
while twice as many of their comrades darted off in pursuit of 
the fugitives. Alas ! the chase was of short duration — encum- 
bered with the weight of their shrieking sisters, the brothers could 
make but little progress, and in their vain efforts to save 

“ from outrage worse than death” 

the pure and loving ones who clung to them as their last 
and only hope, they fell one after another. But where, 
meanwhile, was Shamus Beg — had he basely deserted his 
betrothed in that moment of death and danger, and left 
her a prey to the savage fury of incarnate demons rioting in 
blood No, sooner might the lioness abandon her young to 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


119 


the pursuing huntfer than Shauius Beg O’Hagan leave the girl of 
his heart under saich circumstances. Neither turning to right nor 
left, nor once casting a look behind, on, on he dashed with a speed 
more than human across the level snow-plain which lay between 
him and the rocks, his left arm still encircling the now senseless 
Aileen, while his right hand grasped the trusty skene, which he 
meant to plunge into her bosom should their ruffian pursuers once 
come within reach. In his heart he thanked God for Aileen’s happy 
unconsciousness, as he heard the oaths and threats and hideous 
laughter of the infuriated soldiers, their heavy footsteps crushing 
the frozen snow as on they dashed— ^near and more near they 
came till poor Shamus fancied he could hear the laboring breath 
of the foremost, and by that time his own strength was failing 
fast. Oh, God! how wildly he scanned the space yet lying 
between him and safety — or if not safety, at least escape — every 
cranny and cleft of the rocks thereabouts was known to him, and 
already his straining eye was fixed on a certain point right 
before him — it was only a few yards off— a second or two would 
bring him there, but, alas ! a gully lay between — a brackish, 
briny streamlet or creek, which a thousand times he had leaped 
across in boyish sport — ^but now — ^now — when death — and mad- 
dening danger were close upon him — when the most hideous 
of all fates was about to fall on her for whom he would have 
given an hundred lives — ^now when the breath of the pursuing 
savages was unmistakeably in his ear — faint and exhausted with 
the weight of his precious burden and the superhuman exertions 
he had made, he felt that the attempt was beyond his utmost 
strength, and his blood ran cold as he reached the brink. There 
was no time for hesitation — not even an instant, and breathing 
from his heart a fervent “ IMary Mother ! now or never !” he 
sprang over the chasm with a lightness that amazed himself, and 
drew a shout of admiration even from the ruthless Scotchmen 
— three or four of whom reached one bank as he gained the 
other. 

“ Saul I but that’s a braw lad for a wild Irishman ! ’twas a 
bold leap that, I tell ye !” 

“•But the lassie — the bonnie lassie, Alick, pitch him to the 
de’il, but we’ll have her ^ or I’m no Lindsay ! Here’s for her !’ 


120 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and the fellow was about to spring over the chasm when one 
of his comrades caught him by the arm. 

“ Hoot awa ! Jamie Lindsay, are you gone daft or what 1 — see 
you no that the boiling sea is ahint them rocks — that callan 
kens the place weel — he may chance to lead you an ill dance 
there awa. The spot is no canny, ye see weel !” 

“ Canny or no. I’ll see it out!” cried Lindsay, “ I’m bent on 
having that lass, an’ the tramp we hae had after her !” 

“ I tell you, Scot, you’ll never lay a hand on her I” cried Sha- 
mus, from the elevated point which he had now gained ; “ though 
every devil’s imp of your crew was there on that bank, I could 
dare ye all now — a drop of my blood you’ll never spill, nor nearer 
shall one of you ever be to this ‘ bonnie lass,’ as you well call 
her I Death before dishonor is a word with us Irish. I’ll leave 
my chief. Sir Phelim O'Neill, to settle with you for this — you’ll 
pay dear for this night’s work — take my word for it — ay I every 
egg and bird of your accursed brood !” 

“ Hear till him now,” shouted the enraged Scots, “ hear till the 
senseless braggart 1” and loudly they laughed in scorn and hate 
but louder laughed Shamus Beg, when seeing his savage foes 
about to overleap the ravine, he sank down behind the rock with 
his still unconscious burden, and a heavy plash in the waters far 
below reached the ears of the awed and terrified Scotchmen, even 
amid the roaring of wave and wind. Warned thus of the fate 
which awaited themselves if they ventured to scale the fearful 
barrier, and awed in spite of themselves by tliis episode in the 
night’s bloody tragedy, they said little to each other on the sub- 
ject, as they turned to retrace their steps to the burning cabin of 
Corny Magee. There, however, they found none of their com- 
rades — the work of destruction being completed, the place was 
left to the silent dead and the crackling flames. It was meet 
cause for mirth to the disappointed ruffians that the body of 
poor Bosh was well nigh consumed, and as one of them gave a 
kick to the venerable head of Corny, where it lay across the path, 
with its white locks dabbled in gore, it furnished him with a 
ribald jest for the present and future entertainment of his com- 
panions. 

When the bugles called the marauders together, an hour after, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


121 


they presented a hideous sight ; smutted and begrimed they 
were with the smoke of many dwellings, and marked like Cain 
with tlie murderer’s brand stamped in the blood of their victims.* 
They had glutted their national and religious hatred of the Irish 
to their hearts’ content, and were drunk with the fulness of their 
bloody feasting. Yet they talked in Scriptural cant of the good 
work they had been doing, and the salutary terror which such an 
example would strike into the Moabitish rebels. And it did 
seem as though the Lord had abandoned his faithful people into 
the hands of^-hose merciless executioners, who came upon them 
when least expected in the darkness and storm of night. Of 
all the gallant chieftains who were then in arms with their legions 
of brave followers, to repel the aggressions of bigotry and legal- 
ized rapine, not one was near in that dark hour to save the un- 
offending • peasantry of Island Magee from the exterminating 
sword of fanatical ruffians. Where were O’Neill and O’Reilly, 
McMahon and Maguire, on that fatal night, when the maids and 
matrons of that old Catholic race were shrieking and struggling 
in the grasp of M unroe’s soldiers 'I Ah ! they were far, far aAvay, 
little dreaming of the foul butchery which, on that night, com- 
menced the work of slaughter in the northern province. But, if 
they were not within ken, there was an eye that witnessed all, 
and a power that armed those leaders with might and strength to 
revenge that massacre. If blood could wash out the stain of 
blood then was tiie torrent that flowed that night, on the wild 
Antrim shore, effaced from the soil it saturated, for the memory 
of that atrocious deed, thenceforward, nerved the arms and steeled 
the hearts of the Ulster chieftains, and if ever wanton slaughter 
was avenged it was that of Island Magee. 


* Tho number of those slain in the massacre of Island Magee is so 
variously estimated, that it is hard to arrive at any accurate conclu- 
sion respecting it. By Catholic writers it is said to have amounted to 
three thousand, while no respectable Protestant historian attempts to 
make it less than “ thirty families.” The victims must, in any case, 
have numbered many hundreds, from the actual extent of the district, 
viz., seven miles. Even the ultra-Protestant, Leland, speaks of tho 
affair as an ” infernal massacre.’ 

Ga 


122 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Next morning the wintry sun rose over the peninsula, with a 
keen and frosty radiance, and it shone on black roofless walls 
and the shattered remains of household furniture, and, sadder 
than all, on unburied corpses, some of them partially, others 
wholly, charred and burnt, while others still lay singly or in heaps 
on the highway, where they had been overtaken in their attempt- 
ed flight, these last bruised and shattered by the iron-shod boots 
of their slayers trampling them to and fro. Terror and conster- 
nation, at this dreadful news, had so far overcome the Catholic 
people of the adjoining country, that the day was far advanced 
before any of them ventured to approach the scene of the slaugh- 
ter, either to seek the living — ^if life were yet to be found there — 
or to give sepulture to the dead. 

In the early morning, long before the first of these parties 
visited the place, two men had appeared there at different times, 
coming stealthily and slowly from opposite directions. Each in 
tm-n made his way to Corny Magee’s cottage, now a pile of 
smoking clay walls and smouldering thatch. The first who came 
was Pheliin, the eldest son of the murdered family. Ho had es- 
caped almost by a miracle the fate of all his kindred, though his 
bandaged head and his right arm supported in a sling 'showed 
that he had not been altogether forgotten in the distribution of 
the Scottish favors. No thanks to them that Phelim was not 
still under the mangled corpses of one brother and two sisters, 
where he had been left for dead. At midnight he recovered his 
senses, and with much difficulty extricated himself from his fear- 
ful position, for the death-grasp of his sisters held him as in a 
vice, and the unnatural weight of three dead bodies was a crush- 
ing load for a living man, wounded, too, as he was. But at last 
he rose to his feet, his clothes stiff* upon him with the blood of 
his murdered relatives, as he saw by th^ flickering and uncertain 
light from the still burning ruins. His first thought was one of 
gratitude to Heaven for so signal an interposition of its mercy, 
his next to seek some place of shelter from the bitter northern 
blast until morning’s light should enable him to look after the 
remaining members of his family, of whose fate he had little 
doubt. Before he left the spot, however, he stooped and turned 
over in succession each of the three before him. in order to as- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


123 


certain whether life remained in any of them. Alas ! they were 
all dead — dead, stiff and cold as death and frost could make 
them. With an instinctive horror that almost froze his blood, 
poor Phellm then moved towards the cottage', and who may de- 
scribe his feelings, who may even imagine them, when right 
across his path lie beheld the mangled corpse of his father, and 
a step or two farther on, by a portion of the brown-drugget gown, 
which still covered her lower limbs, he recognized the half-con- 
sumed body of his mother ! No sigh, no groan escaped the son 
as he bent over the ghastly remains of his beloved parents — the 
grief and the horror and the sense of desolation w'hich paralyzed 
his being left but one feeling acute— one passion dominant — who 
cannot guess what that feeling, that passion was — ^the feeling was 
hatred^ the passion revenge, and from that hour Phelim Magee 
lived but to gratify both. All softer emotions were thenceforth 
banished his heart, and his nature, hitherto so genial, became 
hard, hard as stone. 

' On the following morning when Phelim emerged from the 
sheltering walls of a neighboring cottage which had escaped the 
fire, he found an individual whom, even at a distance, he knew to 
be Shamus Beg, standing with folded arms looking down on his 
father’s dead face. It was a joyful surprise for each of the young 
men to see the other, and the silent greeting which they ex- 
changed was as glad as it was sorrowful. By a common impulse 
they knelt on the bloody snow, but neither heard what the other 
uttered. When they arose, sad and stern, Phelim said : 

“What of Aileen, Shamus 1— is she gone, tool” A dismal 
shake of the head was O’Hagan’s answer, and Phelim covering 
his face with his hands, groaned aloud. But Shamus did not 
suffer him to remain long in his lethargy of woe. Laying his 
hand on his arm, he said briskly : 

I “What’s to be done with these 1” pointing to the bodies. 

.“And these P’ added Phelim, leading the way to where his bro- 
ther and sisters lay. “And Aileen 'and the others, wherever 
they are.” 

It was then agreed that they should go up on the mainland 
and seek assistance amongst their friends there, in order to per- 
form the solemn rite of burial. 


124 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ There’s one thing to be done before Tve leave the spot,” said 
Shamus with stem emphasis, “ and after that we’ll go look for 
our poor Aileen and the rest!” He extended his hand to Phelim 
across the old man’s body, and the son, at no loss for his mean- 
ing, joined him in a solemn vow to do battle against the Scotch 
murderers and all who took part with them as long as breath 
remained in their bodies. By way of ratifying their solemn com- 
pact, each laid his hand on the face of the corpses, and then 
rising they stood a moment silent, surveying the awful scene. 

“ That will do now I” said Shamus at length, as he turned to 
commence his journey. “ When we have found the others” — 
here his voice trembled — “ I must leave you to do the rest — Sir 
Phelim must have word of this before the sun sets, and I would 
that my tongue should have the telling of it I Let us off now on 
our search, and first for Aileen 1” 




THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


125 


CHAPTER X. 

** Superior worth your rank requires ; 

For that, mankind reveres your sires , 

If you degenerate from your race, 

Their merit heightens your disgrace.” 

Gay’s Fables. 

“ Me glory summons to the martial scene; 

The field of combat is the sphere for men, 

Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, 

The first in danger, and the first in fame.” 

Pope’s Iliad. 

It was a grand and stately edifice, dating from mediaeval times, 
turreted and castellated for purposes of defence, as became the 
dwelling of a princely house, with crenellated walls and lofty 
curtains uniting the various towers, and tall, narrow windows, 
most of them splayed so as to give much more light to the inte- 
rior than might be expected from their outward dimensions. 
This noble old building, old even in the seventeenth century, 
stood in the midst of a spacious park, whose venerable 
woods of oak, and birch, and hazel, were in keeping with the 
lordly character of the dwelling. The neighborhood, too, was 
rich in picturesque beauty, for the matchless valley of the Suir lay 
spread beneath, and the noble river rolled its silvery waters sea- 
ward through the lovely scene, the whole enlivened by the even 
then prosperous town of Carrick-on-Suir.* 

In a spacious apartment of the baronial dwelling thus situate, 

* “ I know of few finer prospects,” says Mr. Inglis, the famous tra- 
veller, ” than the valley of the Suir presents as it opens upon one from 

the heights above Garrick I do not think it is equalled 

by the vale of Clwyd.” 


126 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


about tli0 last days of Octobor, in the year of 1611 , the noblo 
owner first received the intelligence of the great rebellion in 
Ulster, transmitted to him in all haste from the terrified and 
vacillating officials of Dablin Castle. A gentleman of Sir Wil- 
liam Parsons’ household bore the despatches, and the number of 
his well-armed escort, while it showed the fears of the Lords 
Justices, made the lord of the Castle smile, knowing as he did 
that however things might be in Ulster — by this official showing 
— there was not an illegal mouse stirring in that part of Munster. 

But the tidings brought were grave and important, and with a 
ver}’- grave countenance the nobleman heard them. No one knew 
better than he the many and grievous causes of complaint 
on which the native chiefs based their rebellion, and no one 
knew better, eitlier, than he the persevering resistance of which 
they were capable, and the trouble they were likely to givo 
the government when banded together in the sacred names of 
Religion and Justice. His fine countenance darkened more 
and more as he read of the rapid success of O’Neill and his 
friends in Ulster, and when at length the official document 
closed with an earnest hope that his lordship would hasten to 
Dublin without delay in order to assume the chief command 
against the rebels, an ironical smile flitted across the darkness, 
giving a strange expression to his features. 

Turning towards the expectant envoy, he was about to speak, 
when the latter, bowing lowly, said by way of appendix: “ Their 
chiefest hope is in niy Lord of Ormond !” 

“ My Lord of Ormond is much beholden to them,” the noble- 
man replied, with the same cold, calm smile ; “ their lordships are 
well aware that for the king’s necessity they may command my 
poor services, and I thank them for so signal a mark of their 
good opinion. With God’s help, I will do what in me lies — after 
I have heard from the king’s majesty !” 

“ But, my lord, the affair is urgent,” ventured to suggest the 
messenger, “ an’ the rebels go on as they are doing, Dublin 
itself will not be safe ere many days go by !” 

“ How is it with the Catholic English of the PaleP’ demanded 
Ormoni-suldenly, without at all heeding -the remonstrance so 
humbly offered ; “ I find no mention of them in these despatches.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


127 


“ Thsy have not joined the rebels — a,s yet^ my good lord ! — ^but 
I have heard said that the Lords Justices trust them none the 
more. The chief men ajnongst tliem wore at the Castle betimes 

on the first day after the news of the rebellion came in •” 

“ They were '? — on what business, I pray you T* 

“ Making a tender of their loyal services to the government, 
my lord, and soliciting arms for the defence of their castles 
against the rebels.” 

“ And they doubtless got them T’ 

“ Ay, marry, did they,” and the gentleman shrugged his shoul- 
ders and looked up with a half quizzical expression into the dark, 
l)as3ionle3S face above him, where nothing was to bo read save 
dignified attention. “But how long they may have them passes 
my poor ability to say. I did hear Sir William Parsons say but 
yesterday that they were all traitors at heart, anfi that he would 
as soon trust Maguire or McMahon — whom God has even now 
delivered unto us— as Dunsany or Netterville, or Gorinanstown 
himself, for all their smooth speeches !” 

“ But Maguire and McMihon — be they, then, in prison T* 

“ Even so, my lord! they be safe as bolt and bar can make 
them — they were trapped like bag-foxes even in tlieir own lodg- 
ings in Dublin the night before the rising in Ulster. There was 
a nest of them gathered in the city with intent to seize the Castle 
next day when their wretched kerns got in from the north. But 
the Lord — even the Lord of Hosts — saw their bloody designs and 
Ills arm smote them and gave them bound and manacled into our 
hands ” 

“Who waits without!” demanded the Earl, and when one of 
his pages appeared at the door he commanded him to give the 
gentleman in charge to the steward of the household so that all 
proper attention might be paid to his wants and those of his atten- 
dants. “ Meanwhile, sir, I will prepare my answer to the Lords 
Justices,” and so saying he dismissed him with an imperious ges- 
ture, whereat the follower of Parsons wondered mightily and was 
much abashed, saying to himself as he followed the page through 
the ante-room where numerous attendants were in waiting : 

“ Of a surety he bears him srandly, this earl — an’ ho be the 
king’s servant, it were ill standing before the master !” 


128 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


And he was, too, a grand and stately personage, that same 
Earl of Ormond — a man of commanding presence and imposing 
manners, high and haughty in his ordinary hearing, above all, 
where undue assumption on the part of others, or any approach 
to familiarity made him deem it requisite, yet no man of his 
order could condescend with a loftier grace, a more bland or 
winning courtesy. Accomplished in all the arts of dissimulation, 
and well versed in courtly wiles, prudent, too, beyond most men 
of his time, it was little wonder that Ormond’s sentiments and 
opinions on public events were often a mystery both to his col- 
leagues at the council-board and his subordinates in the field. 
Allied to the Catholic party by every near and dear tie, he 
was naturally suspected by the Puritans, while the Catholics, 
especially those of English blood, gave him credit for a secret 
sympathy with them and their cause which was, in reality, foreign 
to his heart. Like all apostates he hated the religion he had 
left, and thought it quite right to restrict its growth by penal 
enactments, yet, having just as little, or it might be even less 
sympathy with the fanatical Puritans, he held their exterminating 
doctrines in utter abhorrence, and for very hatred to them might 
at times appear less determined in his hostility to Catholic inter- 
ests than he really was. Outwardly he professed the religion of 
the king to whose fortunes he was every way bound, but at heart 
James Butler was a self- worshipping, worldly-minded man, bent 
upon turning to his own advantage some at least of the conflicting 
elements around him, and not over scrupulous as to the means of 
building up a yet greater fortune, and attaining to yet greater 
power than that which he already possessed. Still his religious 
profession was sincere, that is to say, his sympathies were all 
with the Anglican Church, and to a certain extent he was also a 
loyal subject of King Charles, always' providing that the mon- 
arch’s interests and his own ran in the same channel. 

Such a man must necessarily have wielded a powerful influence 
in the complicated machinery of the state at that momentous 
period when all was anarchy, strife, and contention, in the great 
councils of the empire. And so, in fact, he did, for all through 
the storms and convulsions of those turbulent times, his grand 
figure stands out in strong relief from the chaotic mass of medi- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


129 


ocre statesmen, intriguing politicians, and truculent, unprincipled 
leaders. With all his faults — and they were partly the effect of 
early training, partly of non-training, and the absence of all salu- 
tary restraint on a wild and spirited youth, brought up in the 
corrupt atmosphere of the court of James the First — with all his 
faults, Ormond had some redeeming qualities which challenge 
our respect, and although we may not love, we cannot help ad- 
miring the lofty, ambitious, courtly Earl of Ormond, who, hand- 
some and accomplished, wise in council, great in camp and field, 
presented to a dissolute and faithless age the rare spectacle 
of immaculate purity of morals, with the strictest observance of 
all domestic ties. 

For the part which James Butler took in frustrating the efforts 
of the Confederate Catholics, we owe him small liking, the more 
so as his powerful influence should, by right, have been thrown 
into the scale in their favor, whereas he proved himself through- 
out their consistent enemy, while, at times, professing friendship 
for the most sinister motives. If his giant shadow fell darkly 
across the most brilliant effort ever made by the Irish people to 
obtain redress, it was the fault of those who trusted him blindly 
and against all experience — had he never obtained an influence 
in the Catholic councils, he never had power to betray, and in 
fair fighting he could never have conquered. 

Such as he was, however, the Lords Justices were but too 
happy to avail themselves of his recognized abilities at that cri- 
tical juncture, and hence their urgent request for his speedy at- 
tendance in Dublin, for the purpose of assuming the chief mili- 
tary command. 

Left to himself, the Earl took some turns up and down the 
spacious apartment, pausing now and then at one of the win- 
dows to look out upon the gray lowering sky and the misty rain 
which drearily veiled the fair landscape. 

“ The season is a bad one,” he muttered, “ for military opera- 
tions, but it is no better for them than it is for us. And yet — I 
know not but it may — they be used to hard living, these wild kern 
and gallowglasses, and are wont to battle with the elements.” 

Again he paced the room to and fro, then stopped before a 
grim old portrait which hung in a deep recess between the two 
6 ^ 


130 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


centre windows. The Earl folded his arms on his broad chest, 
and gazed with an eye half sad, half defiant, on the dark, stem 
face which seemed to look reproachfully down from the time- 
worn canvas. Gradually a dreamy look settled down on Or- 
mond’s face, and he stood riveted to the spot in utter abstrac- 
tion. Once more his full rich lips parted, and many words ol 
strange import escaped them as he apostrophized the mailed 
warrior. 

“ You need not look so grim, Thomas Butler, for there be too 
much of your own haughty spirit in me to quail even before your 
frown. For all you were a stern old Papist, given to mumbling 
over beads like my grandfather,* good, easy man, it does not 
follow that I, your descendent, should serve the Pope of Rome 
in preference to my lawful sovereign. Men may upbraid me, if 
they will, with my Popish ancestry, and some seek, on that ac- 
count, to hold me to Romish ways of thinking, but I tell you, 
Thomas Dhu, Til none of them, and they do me foul wrong who 
cast my Popish blood in my face, tor there be none of it in my 
heart. An’ my Elizabeth were once in a mending way,t and his 
highness’s commission come to hand, this old house of yours:{: 
should not long hold me within its walls. The voice of duty 
calls me to crush these audacious rebels — ay, doth it, Thomas ! 
— and crush them I will, so help me heaven !” 

Here there came a message from the Countess, craving a few 
moments’ speech of her lord, and immediately Ormond recol- 
lected the despatches, which he must needs send off without delay. 
Still his thoughts followed him as he repaired to the apartments 
of the Countess, situate in another wing of the Castle, and on 
the way he' soliloquized in this wise 

“ McGuire and McMahon in prison — ^Immph — McGuire would 
never have given us much trouble, but McMahon served in Spain 

*Hi3 grandfather, Earl Walter, whom he immediately succeeded 
in the title, was. known by the soubriquet of Walter of the Rosary. 

tit was the illness of his Countess that then detained him at 
Garrick. 

X This Tipperary Castle of the Butlers was built by this Thomas 
Dhu, one of the lineal ance.'tors of the great Earl 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


131 


for a short time, and for the little I have seen of him, I am well 
content to hear of liis speedy capture. But this Phelim O’Neill, 
who has, they say, overrun the major part of Ulster with his 
allies within a week — as a military leader his name is new to 
me, though I have seen the man more than once in Dublin — a 
genuine Celt I took him for, rough and somewhat hasty withal 
— and yet, if what I have heard be true, he did profess the Re- 
formed doctrines while studying the law in London* — it matters 
not, he must have returned to the fold, as the Papist’s phrase it, 
else would he never go headforemost into this treason. A plague 
on them for O’Neills, they be ever brewing mischief — I thought 
the late mishap which befel young Tyrone might, perchance, keep 
them quiet a space, but they be a hydra-headed race — no sooner 
one lopped oflf, than up another starts, and what is worse, all 
Ulster starts up with them. I would that Bloody Hand of theirs 
wa-s in the Red Sea, never again to beckon men on to treason and 
foul rebellion — an’ the Flemish hero of the family take it into his 
noddle to come and have a finger in this precious pie, we may find 
it over hard of digestion for our stomach’s health. There be 
others of the old blood, too, who have won laurels abroad, an’ 
they all fiock around the standard of rebellion, we may look to 
our poor laurels, such as they be. As for the Palesmen, I value 
them little, one way or the other — their lip-loyalty is not worth 
a stratv, for of a surety they have but small cause to relish tliis 
government— still it will go hard with them an’ they make com- 
mon cause with the natives — no, no, their Norman stomachs could 
never brook that — their Papistry and their English sympathies 
will keep tugging them in opposite directions, till it be too late 
to give effective aid to either party. Ha ! ha ! their estates begin 
to shake under them — poor Fingal and all the rest of ye, what a 
quagmire ye have got upon since the unlucky twenty-third. And 
of all men living it is to Parsons and Borlase ye must needs 
reach out your hands for succor ! — oh blood of our Norman 

* If this be true, and many credible authorities say it is, we have 
only to say that Sir Phelim nobly atoned for this temporary apostacy 
of his earlier years. All through the long struggle for religious free 
dom, ho did what in him lay to advance the Catholic cause. 


132 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


fathers, do you indeed fill the veins of these Plunkets, Prestons, 
Nettervilles and Dillons! Ye call yourselves Papists, yet have 
not the manhood to stand up for your party — better, surely, to 
be as James Butler!” 

This contemptuous sarcasm brought the keen-witted nobleman 
to the Countess’s ante-chamber, whence he dispatched one of 
her women to apprise her that he waited admission. Meanwhile 
a short digression may not be amiss. 

Elizabeth Preston, Countess of Ormond, then lying on a bed 
of sickness, the effect of a long and tedious confinement, was a 
woman of great beauty and of many fine endowments of mind. 
Like her husband she had been brought up in the noxious 
atmosphere of the English Court, for she, too, was the orphan 
daughter of a noble house,* and being so, was, of course, under 
the fatherly care of the Court of Wards, and brought up in the 
orthodox religion of the state, though her veins, like Ormond’s, 
were filled with the purest Catholic blood. It so happened that 
the Lady Elizabeth’s large possessions were made up in great 
part from the domains of the house of Ormond, seized at various 
times by the hypocritical rapacity of James, and by him, for some 
consideration, unjustly transferred to his new Earl of Desmond. 
Drawn together not only by similarity of position, but also by the 
ties of blood,-— for they were cousins, — the two^ noble wards early 
began to regard each other with more than common attention, 
and it was not strange that the all but portionless heir of the 
Butlers should do homage to the peerless charms of the fair 
daughter of Desmond, or that she, on her part, should feel what 
all admitted, that the young Lord Thurles was the handsomest 
and most accomplished cavalier about the court. Mutual admi- 
ration quickly grew into mutual love, and much was the plotting 
king disconcerted to find that the wealthy heiress of Desmond, 
whose hand he had promised to his unworthy favorite Bucking- 
ham, for a nephew of his, son of the Earl of Denbigh, was about 
to bestow herself and her possessions on her cousin Lord Thurles, 

II Her father, Sir Richard Preston, was endowed by James the 
Pirst with the earldom of Desmond, long vested in the crown under 
various political pretexts 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


133 


and thereby to build up again the broken fortunes of the house 
of Ormond, for whose prosperity Scotch Jamie cared very little. 
Finding, however, that the nearest relations on both sides were 
favorable to the union, the king could not for shame withhold 
his consent, and so it was that young Butler bore away in tri- 
umph the fairest lady, and, perchance, the richest heiress of King 
James’s Court. Their first married days were spent amid the 
shades of Acton, the beautiful seat of the bridegroom’s maternal 
grandfather, but after a brief season, Earl Walter of Ormond, 
being far advanced in years, “ shufiled off* this mortal coil,” leav- 
ing his title and his castles, and the remnant of his domains, to- 
gether with his blessing to the grandson whose auspicious mar- 
riage had brought back into the family the bulk of its princely 
possessions. So the youthful bride of Ormond was removed from 
her quiet English home, and installed as a Countess in the lordly 
halls of Kilkenny, and in that stately Castle by the silvery Suir, 
near Carrick’s walls, where we have first seen the great Earl, 
and when the pipers and harpers of Ormond put forth their joy- 
ous strains of welcome, the lady of Desmond won their hearts by 
declaring that never music sounded half so sweet to her, albeit 
that her ears were attuned to the melody of courtly minstrels. 
From that day forward the bards were loud in the praise of 
Ormond’s bride, and she ruled like a queen in beauty and in 
grace, over the hearts and homes of the thousands who called 
the Butler lord. 

The Countess, although brought up under the same pernicious 
infiuence as her husband, was no sharer in his anti-Papist pre- 
judices. Her clear sound judgment and her strong sense of 
right made the justice of the Catholic claims apparent to her 
mind, while the gentleness of her nature made her prone to pity 
the sufierings, which, for conscience’ sake, they bore, and to sym- 
pathize with the hardships of their ruined and plundered state. 
Not that she regarded their religion with any more favor than 
others of the royal perverts, but as a clear-headed, soft-hearted 
woman she viewed their cause and entered into the feelings which 
impelled them to this struggle when from Ormond’s lips she 
heard of it that day, 

“ My lord, my lord,” said she, “ bethink you well what you do 


134 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


ere you take upon you to carry out the views of the Lords Jus- 
tices in regard to these poor misguided people 

“ Why, Elizabeth,” said the Earl with a sportive smile, “ me- 
thiuks you be more than half a rebel yourself to hold such speech 
in their behoof. I little thought ever to hear wife of mine plead 
in favor of the king’s enemies !” 

“Nay, Ormond,” replied the lady, “you know full well that 
the king’s enemies are not the Irish Papists — marry, he has his 
worst enemies nearer home, and I have it from our gracious 
queen herself that if his highness dared he would do somewhat 
to lighten the burden which weighs so heavily on his subjects in 

this realm who hold to the old faith ” 

“ Hush, Bess, hush, I pray you !” said the Earl in a low earnest 
to.ia, “ such words be neither safe nor prudent — heard and re- 
peated by tattling tongue they might reach those who would be 
right glad to use them to his grace's detriment. However it bo 
in that matter, my duty is plain, and if God spares me life to 
do it, I will put down this rebellion before it gathers more 
strength.” 

“But, Ormond,” persisted the generous Countess, and she 
raised herself on her elbow the better to urge her remonstrance, 
“ no fair means have been tried to conciliate these poor natives — 
not one of, their just demands hath been conceded — why, then, 
have recourse to force and bloodshed, ever odious in the sight of 
lieaven, before any attempt hath been made to win them from 
their treasonable practices by gentler means P’ 

“ Truly, Bess, their own ways are gentle !” quoth the Earl, 
sharply ; “ they be dealing softly, of a surety, with the loyal Pro- 
testants whose goods and substance they lay hold of with so lit- 
tle ceremony. Your womanly softness leads you into error!” 

“ Surely, no, James, I bear all their treasonable doings in 
mind, and, all things taken into account, I marvel they be not of 
a bloodier nature — but your lordship knows right well that these 
Papists, hunted, and robbed, and persecuted for their religion 
though they be, have made divers efforts to soften the flinty 
hearts of their rulers, and obtain even a small portion of that 
justice which is due to them — nay, in the late afiair of the 
Graces — have they not been treated with most base and cruel 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


135 


treachery — interrupt me not, I beseech you, till I speak my 
thoughts once for all on this pitiful subject— why it was but the 
other day, in a manner, that a large body of these much-wronged 
poor people had a remonstrance written for them by that godly 
prelate. Bishop Beddell, of Kilmore, urging upon the govern- 
ment their many grievances, and humbly asking for redress — 
think you that good bishop and most loyal subject would have put 
pen to paper on behalf of knaves and plotters of rebellion 1 - nay, 
never tell me, it was hard necessity that drove them to their 
present courses— whenever they complained or remonstrated 
ever so humbly, Sir Charles Coote and such like men were sent 
into their territories to silence their clamor with fire and sword.” 

The Countess sank on her pillow exhausted, and the Earl 
laughed— a low deep laugh peculiar to himself — as he rose to 
proceed to the writing of his despatches. The look of discontent 
on the fair brow of Elizabeth quickly vanished as he stooped and 
whispered some words of tenderness, and smoothed with his 
hand the fair silken tresses which had made their w’ay from under 
her cambric coif. “ Rest you softly, sweet wife,” he said very 
gently, as he beckoned to her women, who had merely retired on 
his entrance to the farther end of the spacious chamber; “ trust 
me, the rebels will not thank you for taking up their cause, and 
good Doctor Delamere will find you none the better for what you 
have spoken.” 

The following day brought the royal commission, written by 
the monarch’s own hand, appointing his “ trusty and well-beloved 
Ormond” lieutenant-general of all dhe army in Ireland, with an 
urgent request —meaning, of course, a command — to take the 
field unmediately. Fortunately the Countess’s health was so far 
improved that in two days more the leech pronounced her out of 
all danger, and, his mind thus lightened of its heaviest load, the 
Earl proceeded at once to Dublin. 

The Lords Justices, in their puerile terror, hailed Ormond’s 
appearance with exuberant satisfaction, as, in times of trouble 
and confusion, weaker minds ever throw themselves on the 
stronger for support, and Ormond was even then famous amongst 
the men of his time for readiness of wit as for promptness and 
decision of character. lie was known to both friends and foes 


13G 


TKE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


as one who could practise as well as plan, and plan as well as 
practise. He was the man, in short, on whose genius, energy, 
and courage, both the Irish government and the king himself 
relied in every emergency. 

A council was immediately summoned to meet the Earl, who 
belonged, of course, to that dignified body whose privilege it 
— was to advise the executive. Great was Ormond’s surprise to 
find that the small force actually at the disposal of the govern- 
ment -was already brought into Dublin from the different gar- 
risons of the adjoining country, leaving the whole island, as one 
might say, open to the incursions of the rebels, as, to be sure, the 
Catholic forces were styled. In the Earl’s eyes this amounted to 
little less than encouraging the rebellion, and so he broadly 
hinted, but Parsons was ready with his answer, that the seat of 
government must needs be protected at all hazards. 

“And the Lords Justices above all!” Ormond added within 
hfmself, and he smiled, but made no remark. 

Here one of the many doors of the Council Chamber opened, 
and another remarkable personage made his appearance. 





THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


137 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ Nurtur’d in blood betimes, his heart delights 
In vengeance, gloating on another’s pain.” 

Byron’s Childc Harold, 

“ Torture thou mayest, but thou shalt ne’er despise me ; 

The blood will follow whore the knife is driven ; 

The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear ; 

And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain : 

But these are foreign to the soul ; not mine 
The groans that issue, or the tears that fall ; 

They disobey me j — on the rack I scorn thoo.” 

Young 

The person who now made his appearance was a man of large 
proportions, considerably above the middle height, and far be- 
yond the middle, age. His form and demeanor might have been 
called commanding, were it not for the fleshy redness of his face 
and the large, fierce-looking gray eyes, which, protruding far 
beyond the surrounding surface, gave a flerce and somewhat 
brutal expression to the whole visage. His hair and whiskers 
were already silver gray, and his massive forehead bald to the 
crown. He was clothed in the undress military uniform of the 
British army of that day, and his brawny, sinewy neck, in utter 
defiance of the chill November rain, was bare almost to the col- 
lar-bone. ^Altogether there was a look of ferocious energy and 
indomitable courage about the whole man, that, with his huge 
muscular frame, and the sensual appearance of his eyes and 
mouth, made a strong and very disagreeable impression even on 
the casual beholder. To the native Irish, and, indeed, to all the 
Catholics who fell in his way, the man was an object of fear and 
abhoiTence, and well he might, for he was no other than Sir 


138 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Charles Coote,* the Dalzell of the Irish wars, one of the bloodiest 
and most inhuman generals that ever drew sword in execution of 
a tyrant’s will. With the Lords Justices Coote was in high favor, 
higher far than Ormond or any other captain of that day, and that 
not on account of any superior excellence as a general, or any 
superior knowledge of military tactics, but solely because of his 
entire subserviency to their will, and utter disregard of the means 
by which it was accomplished. The more cruel, in fact, the 
means, the better pleased was Coote, and where cupidity had 
little to look for or expect from the utter wretchedness of the 
victims, another and still stronger motive had he in his unquench- 
able hatred of the Irish Papists. Like Hamilton of Leitrim, Sir 
Charles Coote was disliked by all the moderate and humane 
even of his own party, and the general impression amongst them 
was that when any strong temptation offered, or his brute pas- 
sion impelled him on, it would cost him no more to give them 
cold steel or short shrive than the veriest Papist or merest Irish 
kern in broad Ireland. Between Coote and Ormond there was 
little sympathy and just as little liking — heartless as the Earl was 
in regard to Catholics, he was utterly opposed to the savage 
policy of Coote and Parsons, and with all his intense devotion to 
his own interests, he could never have stooped to advance his 
fortunes by the harsh and brutal means which they, from choice, 
adopted. There was hardly one bond of union between the two 
generals, if we except that of hatred to Catholics — for "while 
Ormond was the friend and servant of King Charles and honestly 
fought in his interest. Sir Charles Coote was by all recognized as 
the henchman of the Lords Justices, and consequently of the 
refractory Parliament of England, a far more rebellious body 
even tlien than the insurgent Catholics of Ireland, 

“ How now, lords and gentlemen,” said Coote, in a deep gruff 
voice, as he advanced to a vacant seat near Parsons, scarcely 

* This Sir Charles Coote was the founder of a race which h.as left its 
bloody mark on many a page of Irish history — above all others they 
have been distinguished for cruelty, love of plunder, and the grossest 
sensuality. The Queen’s County and that of Cavan were specially 
given over to their rapacious rule. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


139 


deigning to make the customary salute to the other members of 
the Council, though it numbered two or three Bishops ; “ ye do 
take things easy here, nothing mindful, it would seem, that the 
rascally Papists are overrunning the whole country !” 

“ What would you have us do. Sir Charles 1” asked Parsons in 
what he meant for a gracious tone ; “ until such time as your new 
levies are fit to take the field, we are, as it were, powerless to 
smite those Philistines — here is my lord of Ormond, newly ap- 
pointed by his grace’s highness to the chief command — he would 
have us give him what forces are here in town— and our Lord 
knows they bo all too few to protect the place — and to let him 
-march northwards in quest of the enemy, when Heaven knows 
but they might give him the slip and by another route come upon 
us here in town and burn and slay all before them after their sav- 
age manner. We were of hard necessity driven to refuse his lord- 
ship’s demand, how then can we answer your question, otherwise 
than by saying that the lack of troops is our misfortune rather 
than our fault.” 

“ It is even so. Sir Charles,” said Ormond with his bland and all- 
concealing smile ; “ here have I been summoned to town in all 
haste to proceed against the rebels, and being come, I am like a 
man with his hands tied— men, money, and arms are a’l wanting, 
so that I am a general without a command — was there ever such 
provision made for such an emergency I” 

“ Go to work and make an army as I do,” was Coote’s rough 
answer ; “ Sir William is -right, strength must be kept up here, 
come what may, and the king’s trust is much misplaced in your 
lordship an’ you cannot raise forces to serve your turn.” 

“ Were I inclined to bandy words with a gentleman so polished,'^ 
said Ormond with lofty scorn and keen irony, “ I might say to 
Sir Charles Coote that what man can do that will Ormond do, an’ 
means are given him, but a carpenter can ill work without tools, 
or a butcher, either, as some here present may bear witness.” 

There was something in tlie last words that brought a smile to 
many a grave face around the table, though all cast down their 
eyes to avoid making any application. 

“ I understand you, my lord of Ormond,” said Coote with a 
smile half humorous, half ferocious, “ but I would have you to 


140 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


know that butchery, for all your sneer, is the best trade goin^ 
now that wild cattle are out in droves — an ounce of sharp steel 
will go farther with them than a bushel of fair words. Hang them 
up and rip them open— make scare-crows of them to frighten 
their accomplices — that’s all you can ever make them good for, 
and that’s how I treat them whenever they come into my hands, 
egg or bird of them !” 

With the exception of Parsons and his surly old colleague, 
there was hardly one around the council-board who did not shud- 
der at this brutal declaration, but all knew the speaker too well 
to attempt either censure, ridicule, or remonstrance. By general 
consent, little or no notice was ever taken in the council-room of 
Coote’s characteristic blustering, and Ormond, to whom he had 
specially addressed himself, vouchsafed no reply but turned with 
cold contempt to the Lords Justices. 

“ I have heard,” said he, “ that the English Papists of the Pale 
have asked and received arms from the government. Your lord- 
ships, then, believe them trustworthy 

Some members of the Council, amongst others the Archbishop 
of Dublin, were eagerly professing their belief in the loyalty of 
those lords and gentlemen, when Coote roughly interposed : 

“ I wouldn’t trust them the length of my nose” — here there was 
a very perceptible titter amongst the younger members, for the 
general’s nose occupied a large portion of his facial surface, and 
was moreover of very remarkable length — “ ay ! ye may laugh,” 
he continued, with a fierce glance around the board, “ especially 
as the rebels are at safe distance —an’ they come within pike’s 
length of any of your noble lordships, the laughter, I fear, will 
be the other way. As for these white-livered and most dainty 
gentlemen of the Pale, I tell you they be worth watching — the 
lying spirit of Rome is in them to the back-bone, and ye know it 
too — if ye trust them, ye are no better than they, and another 
thing let me tell you concerning them, lords and gentlemen, which 
perchance some of ye know not — ” hero the speaker paused 
and looked around with a leer so expressive and at the same time 
so diabolical as to make the majority of his hearers turn away 
their eyes in disgust — “ rich lordships they have and hold, and 
fair manors, and barns and bawns well stored — ^little wonder is 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


141 


it, then, that they would fain pass for most loyal men, but great 
wonder jt is to me that you, my Lords Justices, and you, honor- 
able members of the Council, should suffer those knaves to throw 
dust in your eyes, and thereby keep what they have until such 
time as their friends the northern rebels can, with their secret 
aid and abetment, take your houses over your heads, ay ! and 
ornament the tops of their pikes with those same sculls — num- 
skulls we might well call them then, seeing that they had not 

sense enough to protect themselves ! By the and he swore 

a dreadful oath, striking the table with his ponderous fist at the 
same time, “ an’ ye leave these arms in the hands of such traitors 
as Gormanstown, Bunsany, and the rest of that crew, ye deserve 
all that will come upon ye ! Some even of this Council may seek 
to persuade you in courtly speech that these mongrel hounds 
being of English blood, and, moreover, in divers ways connected 
with them^ must needs be loyal gentlemen, but I give you my 
word I would not trust them an’ they were Charles Stuart's 
' kinsmen !” 

“ Charles Stuart !” Ormond repeated with stern emphasis, 
“who may that be. Sir Charles CooteT’ and rising, he drew 
himself up to his fullest height. 

“ Go northward and ask Sir Phelim O’Neill,” was the insolent 
answer; “ they do say he shows a license from an individual of 
that name !” 

“ I insist on knowing what you mean !” said the Earl in his 
loftiest tone and manner ; “ I will not, cannot suppose that our 
sovereign lord the king is alhided to in such wise by one of his 
own generals and in such presence as this 

“ Suppose what you please, my lord of Ormond,” said Coote 
with vehemence, “ I say the arch-rebel and traitor, Sir Phelim 
O’Neill — ^^vhose head I look to see on one of our city gate-posts 
some of these days — does publicly and openly exhibit to his 
ruffianly followers a commission for his present work, signed by 
no less a personage than ‘ our sovereign lord, the king.’ Hear 
you that, my lord V' 

The insolent imitation of his own tone and manner would at 
another time have irritated the proud earl, but at that moment 


142 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the astounding news* which he then heard for the first time 
engrossed all his attention, and leaving Coote to exchange tri- 
umphant glances aside with Parsons and a few others of the mem- 
bers, be eagerly turned to the Bishops and Sir Robert Meredith 
to ask if what he heard could possibly be true. The report was 
common in town, they regretted to say, and however idle or im- 
Tjrobable it might seem to be, there were but too many who be- 
lieved it. 

“ It were strange an’ they did not,” said Borlase, disregarding 
the nods and winks of his more wily partner in office, “when 
they have it from the mouths of the sufferers who flock hither for 
shelter from the ravenous fury of the Ulster Papists who have 
stripped them of all they had and turned them adrift like shorn 
sheep, to die in the fields and highways of cold and hunger.” 

“ It is but too true, my lord,” said Bishop Loftus in reply to 
Ormond’s look of wonder and interrogation ; “ we have for the 
last two or three days witnessed sights of that nature fit to melt 
our poor hearts within us. Shoals of the lo)’’al and God-fearing 
Christians of Ulster — men, women and children, are daily flock- 
ing hitherward for succor and protection — ay ! some of the fore- 
most people of that unhappy province, too glad to escape with 
their lives from the bloody hands of those godless Papists who 
have stripped them of all they had — alack! alack! but our 
bowels yearn over those suffering confessors for the faith of 
Christ!” 

Hearing this, Ormond could not keep from smiling: “Well! it 

* There is no doubt that Sir Phelim O’Neill did exhibit such a do- 
cument in order to induce a belief that he and his army fought under 
the royal sanction. Amongst a people so loyally disposed as the 
Irish, this pretendel commission did undoubtedly strengthen Sir 
Phelim’s hands considerably. Oar condemnation of such an act as 
the production of a spurious commission would bo much more severe, 
did we not know that Sir Phelim expiated the deed with his life, and 
that his last words declared the king entirely innocent and ignorant of 
such a document being in his hands. The history of this famous com- 
mission with the mystery in which its origin was involved, the reader 
will find in a future chapter. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 143 - 

is very moving, I do confess,” said he, “ but still I see not how 
the rebels can have such bloody hands as your lordship speaks 
"of, seeing that they do not make martyrs of these pious confess- 
ors — surely, an’ they were so much given to bloodshed, these 
‘shoals’ of Protestants could not escape their furyl But me- 
thinks we are losing much precious time in idle chit-chat — what 
news from the west, the south I know to be quiet 1” 

“Ay, marry, is itl” quoth Parsons curtly j “thanks to good 
St. Leger ” 

“ Little fear of rebellion where he rules,” put in Coote with a 
fierce laugh. ^ 

“ And as for Connaught,” continued Parsons, taking no note 
of the interruption, “ the men of Belial there have not dared to 

stir a finger — they are quiet as ” 

“ As muzzlel bears,” suggested Coote again ; “ who thanks 
them 1” 

“ Nay, Sir Charles, said Rotherham coldly,” much thanks arc 
due to the Lord Clanrickard for the good disposition mani- 
fested in those parts. Papist though he be, he is a most loyal 
and excellent nobleman, and writes us in such wise as we might 

expect from a true friend to law and order ! 

“ Of a surety that Earl is doing good service,” said one of the 
Bishops, “ and deserves most honorable commendation.’* 

“Well! well!” said Coote impatiently, “let it pass — Clanrick- 
ard and the other Papists of that country are none the worse for 
Willoughby being there to watch them. Having Galway city 
under his thumb he can keep it screw tight on them. But as 
regards this royal commission to the rebels — be there no way 
left us of getting at the proof'?” 

The sinister look which accompanied the words was well un- 
derstood by Parsons, and he smiled exultingly as he replied : 
“ That have wo, Sir Charles ! I thank God, we are in a fair way 
to bring out the truth — grievous as that may be to loyal subjects 
— though I see not but we have only too much proof even now 
— however, lest any doubt remain. Sir Charles, we will have re- 
course to the safe and secure means Avhich the God of justice has 
placed within our reach.” 

Ormond and most of the other members exchanged significant 


144 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


glances, for they all guessed what Parsons had in view. Disgusted 
as many of them were by the blasphemous hypocrisy which yet 
was characteristic of the man, and perhaps condemning in their 
hearts the cold-blooded cruelty which made so little account of 
the sufferings of others, like Pilate they shrank from inter- 
posing between the tyrant and his victims, fearing to em- 
broil themselves in an affair which no w’ay concerned them. 
Even the Bishop who talked so feelingly of the hardships endured 
by the Protestants of Ulster had not a word of remonstrance to 
offer on behalf of fellow-creatures about to undergo the extremity 
of human torture. 

So without having formed one resolution, or framed one salu- 
tary measure to check the progress of the rebellion, the Privy 
Council adjourned its sitting in favor of the noble and right hon- 
orable stomachs of its members. This first and most pressing 
duty discharged. Parsons and Coote proceeded together to sift 
the matter of Sir Phelim O’Neill’s commission. 

Ormond was no way surprised to hear that evening that Lord 
Maguire and Mr. McMahon had been both put to the torture, 
and that even the rack which strained and twisted every bone 
and sinew of their body could not draw any confession from 
either which went to inculpate the king as privy to the designs of 
the insurgent chieftains. The Earl had made up his mind that 
the document was a forged one, and he knew enough of the 
Irish generally to be well assured that chieftains such as the two 
in custody would not be induced by any amount of suffering to 
criminate their sovereign wrongfully. 

The heroic fortitude displayed by both prisoners, and their 
generous refusal to obtain a release from torment on a false pre- 
tence, might have softened many a hardened heart, but it could 
not soften either Coote or Parsons, who alone witnessed the exa- 
mination (as the torture was technically styled). Standing by, 
they directed the fiendish operation, plying the sufferers at short 
intervals with such questions as they would have had them 
answer affirmatively. Maguire being deemed the most hopeful 
subject, was first placed on the rack. And, in sooth, his appea«-- 
ance when first introduced to the fatal chamber, and, surveying 
tho various instruments of torture, was such as to inspire his 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


.145 


fiendish persecutors with hope. But the deathly pallor of his fine 
countenance, the tottering of his limbs, and the clammy sweat 
which bedewed his face were merely outward symptoms, the 
natural effect of extreme bodily terror, suddenly excited. Those 
who judged of the chieftain’s spirit by these manifestations of 
weakness did him foul wrong, as they speedily found to their no 
small amazement. As for Coote, he missed the sight of the first 
application. He was summoned from the room just as the unfor- 
tunate nobleman was stretched on the rack. What detained him 
from the luxurious feast of cruelty for full ten minutes neither 
Parsons nor any one present could guess, but when he returned 
and hastily took his seat near the Lord Justice, that personage 
noted with surprise that his whole frame trembled, and his every 
feature was convulsed by some strong emotion, most probably of 
anger, judging from the livid hue which pervaded the whole. 
Had any one been bold enough to question him, he would hardly 
have told that two persons of high estate, and whose solicitations 
even he had found hard to refuse, had been pleading with pas- 
sionate earnestness that the prisoners might not bo subjected to 
the torture. Threats and persuasions had been tried, and rea- 
soning so cogent that few men could have resisted it. Sir Charles 
Coote, however, was not the man to give in to reason— and, at 
last, as the agonized groans of the 'Sufferer fell on the ears of 
the petitioners, and stilLno sign of obtaining mercy for him, the 
tones of entreaty were suddenly changed to that of solenm de- 
nunciation, and one of the two, as with the sudden inspiration of 
a prophetic spirit, exclaimed with fearful energy : 

“ No mercy for him who showeth not mercy — as we judge, so 
shall we be judged — doom dark and dreadful awaits the merci- 
less tyrant — away — let’s away — I cannot listen to those sounds' of 
agony — oh, God! wilt not Thou — Thovt, have pity P’ 

There was a rush of sweeping garments down the long 
stone passage, the other individual, after another fruitless 
entreaty, followed at slower pace, and Coote, without turn- 
ing his head to look after either, pushed in the iron-stud- 
ded door of the torture-room with a muttered impreca- 
tion of fearful import, and glancing with hellish exulta- 
tion at the panting, fainting f^rm writhing on the rack, he 
7a 


146 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


took his seat near Parsons with as much composure as he could 
assume, although that was very little. It soon became evident 
that nothing satisfactory was to be elicited from the prisoner — 
nothing, at least, but what was already patent to the whole 
country. As to the royal commission alleged to be in the hands 
of Sir Phelim O’Neill, Maguire heard of it then for the first time, 
and although it was made the chief point of his examination 
— although bone, and nerve, and sinew, were stretched almost to 
rending asunder, still he assured them with a voice almost 
extinct, that he knew nothing whatever of such a document, or 
had never heard of its existence. At last the unfortunate victim 
fainted away, and his two examiners concluding there was nothing 
to be made of Mm, ordered the ministers of their vengeance to 
remove him, and bring in the other prisoner. 

McMahon, true to liis own character, and having, doubtless, 
braced his' mind for the first eflect of the gloomy chamber and its 
dismal apparatus, betrayed no sign of fear as he glanced around, 
and when his eye settled on Coote and Parsons, its expression 
was that of calm defiance, mixed with a stern resolution that was 
anything but encouraging to the worthy pair, especially after 
their experience of the weaker and more timorous Maguire, 
whose “ stature tall and slender frame,” were also strongly con- 
trasted by the more athletic proportions of the Tanist of Uriel. 
They were not deceived in their calculations, for if the peer 
proved an unsatisfactory subject, the commoner was still worse. 
Even the rack could not quench the fire of his free spirit, and so 
far from gaining any admission from him detrimental to tho 
cause for wliich ho suffered, they heard many words of biting 
sarcasm, and many home-truths which stirred them to the very 
. quick. Not the least provoking thing was that, increase tho 
amount of torture as they might, they could not extract an ex- 
pression of pain from iMcMahon. Like the son of Alknomook 
. “ he scorned to complain,” and although his members were 
strained till the joints and sinews cracked, and the big drops stood 
on his pallid brow, yet, pressing his lips together, he resolutely 
kept from uttering even the slightest groan. When the officials 
had exercised upon the brave prisoner the full measure of torment 
prescribed by the disappointed rage of the examiners, McMahon 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


147 


■was taken from the rack more dead than alive, though still con- 
scious, and consigned once more to his dark and silent dungeon 
•without remedy or soothing application of any kind to his bruised 
and aching limbs. 

Like inhumanity was shown to Lord Maguire, but, more 
fortunate than his friend, he was not without one sympathiz- 
ing heart to ^compassionate his sufferings. All through the 
long and dismal night a figure muffled from head to foot in a 
sort of military cloak sat weeping in silence at the door of his 
cell, crouched up in a shapeless heap, listening ever to the piteous 
moans and half-suppressed groans of the lonely sufferer within. 
And yet though some mighty passion at times shook the frame 
of the solitary watcher without, not even one sigh, one whisper 
of sympathetic sorrow escaped its lips. No turnkey’s tread 
broke in on the mournful vigil, for the golden key which had 
obtained admission “ for some moon-struck Irish damsel,” as 
the jailor phrased it, kept the passage which contained Maguire’s 
cell from all official visitation that night. It was enough for the 
turnkey in charge to glance down the dimly-lighted corridor as 
he passed its entrance, and seeing the dark, motionless bulk still 
there, he would mutter something about “ strange tastes” and 
pass on his round. 



148 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“Pity! no, no, you dare not, Priest, — not you, our Father, dare 
Preach to us now that godless creed — the murderer’s blood to spare ; 
To spare his blood, while tombless still our slaughter’d kin implore 
‘ Graves and revenge’ from Gobbin-cliffs and Garrick’s bloody shore ! 

“ Pity ! could we ‘forget — forgive,’ if we were clods of clay, 

Our martyr’d priests, our banish’d chiefs, our race in dark decay. 
And worse than all — you know it. Priest — the daughters of our land. 
With wrongs we blush’d to name until the sword was in our hand I” 

C. G. Duffv. 

All was bright and cheerful in the Irish camp at Newry. 
Roger O’Moore and Hugh McMahon and Rory Maguire and 
Lorcan, Sir Con Magennis and many others of the chief leaders 
were there with Sir Phelim O’Neill, and Sir Phelim, now tacitly 
recognized as the O'Neill, and, moreover, the head of an all- 
conquering army — if army his multitudinous force could yet be 
called — was in the best possible humor with himself, his brother 
chiefs, his brave followers, and, in short, all the world, with the 
trifling exception of the Lords Justices and their adherents, and 
the sluggish Normans of the Pale. Even the usurping English 
and Scotch within his own borders Sir Phelim could, in his gra- 
cious mood, somewhat excuse, inasmuch as restitution had been 
exacted from them, and that, on the whole, with less trouble 
than might be expected. In fact Sir Phelim could have almost 
sympathized witli them on their losses, in the exuberance of his 
good-nature, and the other chiefs were no little amused by his 
unsoldierly bearing in their regard. The Irish of that, as of for- 
mer days, had an instinctive dislike to be shut up in walled towns, 
and thus it was that although the neighboring stronghold was 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


149 


theirs, they chose to keep outside rather than inside its walls, 
leaving merely a small garrison to keep the place in possession. 
But their flag was floating from its towers, and their sentinels 
walked its ramparts, and they knew themselves masters of Bag- 
nal’s fortifications, so they rested content in their encampment 
close by on the Ne wry- water, well supplied with provisions by 
the country-people around, and little heeding the rain and snow 
beating in at times through the frail coverings which were merely 
apologies for tents. 

The sixth day of November arrived and Sir Phelim spoke of 
making another attack on the strong walls of Lisnagarvey,* 
which had some days before repulsed a detachment of his forces 
with considerable loss. Some few castles, too, were yet in the 
hands of the foreigners, and these must be gained, if possible, 
without further delay. The following day was fixed on for the 
attack on Lisnagarvey, and all things were to be put in readiness 
over night for an early start. 

This arranged, the chieftains met by invitation in Sir Phelim’s 
tent to partake of the evening meal. While it was still in prepa- 
ration they talked over the general prospects of the war, what 
had been already done, and what remained to do before freedom 
could be established on a fair basis. O’Moore marvelled much 
that nothing was heard from his friend Owen Koe O’Neill to 
whom he had straight sent off a trusty messenger on hearing of 
Tyrone’s assassination. 

“An’ he were but come,” said Rory, “he would organize our 
forces and teach them the art of war ” 

“What’s amiss with them at this present*?” demanded Sir 
Phelim snappishly ; “ I see not that they have need of new-fangled 
modes of fighting — what could they do more than they have 
done here in the North, an’ they had fifty Owen Roes to head 
them V* 

“ I said not to head them, Sir Phelim,” replied O’Moore very 
gently, “ but only to train them in the military art, and thereby 
make them more efficient soldiers ” 

“ Such teaching were well enough for the Englishers of the 
Pale,” said O’Neill with increasing pctulence, “but the clans- 
* Now Lisburn. 


150 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


men of Tyr-Ovven and Tyr-Connell — ay ! and others whose valiant 
chiefs are here present, have but small need, I think, of such les- 
sons. Trust me they can use their pikes and skenes, not to 
speak of other instruments of that kind, as prettily as heart could 
wish !” 

Most of the other chiefs, however, were clearly of O’Moore’s 
opinion that a leader of foreign reputation, and of tried prowess, 
like Owen Roe, was much to be desired. 

“ I would you had a score of such,” cried Sir Phelim passion- 
ately, “an’ I warrant me, chiefs of Ulster, you would soon be sick 
of them, and wish them back again in France or Flanders, or 
wherever they came from — who did you say was come I” to one 
of his gillies who had been waiting at his elbow for some minutes 
vainly trying to get a hearing. 

“ It’s Saamus Beg,” said the youth quietly, “ at least he says 
so, though, for my part. I’d hardly know him ; he wants to see 
you. Sir Phelim — why, here he is himself — well ! sure enough he 
must be in the d — 1 of a hurry !” he added looking back over his 
shoulder as he moved away. 

“Well, Shamus, my man,” said his chieftain with restored good 
humor, as he held out his hand to his foster-brother, for whose 
return he had, to say the truth, been much more anxious than he 
would wish to acknowledge ; “ well, Shamus, my man, what 
news from the Island — I hope you’ve brought the colleen back this 
time — I can ill spare you these busy times running after a colleen 
bawn— but how are all in Corny Magee’s I” y' 

“ Not one of them breathes the breath of life,” said Shamus, 
speaking with difficulty, “ in that house anyhow,” he added in 
an under tone. 

“ Why, how is that I” asked the chieftain in surprise. 

“ They’re all dead, Sir Phelim, dead — dead — and their house 
is a heap of burned rubbish — and so is most every house on Is- 
land Magee — and the whole place is like a graveyard with 
corpses, only that there they’re above ground ” 

Shamus O’llagan,” said O’Neill with increasing agitation, ‘ 
“what is this I hear I —have then the whole people been 
massacred I” 

“Ay, every soul of them -I may say— it was a miracle from 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


151 


God that I escaped myself— and it’s little I’d care to do that 
same only to bring the news to you myself ” 

“ Great God!” cried O’Neill, as he leaped from his seat, who 
did this horrible deed I” 

“ iSIonroe’s bloody sassums from Knockfergus — last night, in 
all the storm they marched out to the Island and murdered and 
burned, and robbed and plundered all before them — by this 
morning’s sun, when I stole back to see what harm was done, I 
found only one living being in the place — and he groping like 
myself among the dead ! — oh ! the curse of God villains ! — the 
black, blood-thirsty hell-hounds I” cried Shamus, warming up at 
his own recital, “ it was them that did their work well \—fareer 
gar, but they did !” 

“ Chieftains of Ulster ! — Catholics I gentlemen! hear ye that 1” 
shouted O’Neill, now thoroughly roused to that passion which 
was always fearful. 

“ We do, O’Neill !” said Magennis, who had been sitting next 
him, but all now rose from their seats, and stood looking on each 
other and on their host with faces of horror and blank amaze- 
ment; “ we hear the black tidings, and mournful it comes to our 
ear, 0 son of the Ily-Nial !” 

“ By my faith, they’ll be worse for the foreigners than they 
are for us !” exclaimed Maguire in a voice quivering with passion. 
“ It’s all over now with the poor victims on Island Magee, but 
they have it all before them ” 

“ And if it do not overtake them in every corner where our 
arms can reach,” said McMahon sternly, “ may those same arms 
fail us in our sorest need !” 

“ Ay,” said O’Neill in a half-stifled voice, grinding his teeth at 
the same time, “ we were all over generous with the brood of 
vipers — we were sparing them, forsooth — ay, were we — sparing 
them for our own destruction — now, Mr. O’Moore,” he exclaimed, 
turning suddenly to that gentleman, “ what have you to say for 
yourself? — this milk— and — water work— this clemency and ge- 
nerous forbearance, and what not, was a pet scheme of yours — 
are you satisfled now that they deserve nor mercy nor pity at our 
hands — these scorpions — these — oh! that my single arm could 
deal destruction to them all— but if my life be spared, I will give 


152 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


them enough of this bloody work — ay ! they shall have it to their 
hearts’ content!” 

“ I knew it,” cried Shamus, his eyes gleaming with exultation 
and the burning anticipation of revenge ; “ I knew O’Neill would 
stand by us—lamh dearg dboo /” and he leaped some feet from 
Ithe ground, “ it’s ourselves will pay them back with heavy inter- 
est for their last night’s work — I told them Sir Phelim would see 
justice done \ — lamh dearg ahoo ! friends of my heart, but it’s 
many a proud Sassenach we’ll bring down as low as these eyes 
saw you !” And so saying, he darted from the room, eager to 
spread the doleful news. 

“ Sir Phelim,” said Rory O’Moore in a tone of deep emotion, 
‘‘ believe me there is no one amongst you all who feels more 
deeply for the victims of this inhuman massacre, or more detests 
the cruel treason which wrought so foul a work, but ere we do 
aught by way of revenge, I would have you think whether, as 
Christians, we can follow in the bloody track of our enemies with- 
out danger of drawing down on ourselves and our cause the 
wrath and malediction of the God who claimeth vengeance as His 
own right. Shall we, by indiscriminate slaughter, imbrue our 
hands in innocent blood, after the manner of these ruthless fana- 
tics, and stain with foul crime the cause now so holy and so just 1 
Friends 1 Brothers 1 shall we forfeit oiir high character as Chris- 
tian gentlemen, and worse still, our hopes of heavenly guerdon 1 
— speak 1” 

More than one of the chieftains was about to make reply, but 
Sir Phelim broke in with thundering voice, and fierce gesticula- 
tion : 

“ Ay, speak I — speak all of ye ! — tell our smooth-tongued 
Leinster friend that ye will close your ears to the cry of kindred 
blood — that ye will obligingly banish from your minds the mem- 
ory of last night’s slaughter, and in all Christian charity join 
hands with the murderers, and humbly thank them for what they 
have done ! Talk of staining our cause by punishing those mis- 
creants whom no other power can or will punish ! By St. Coliimb 
of Hy I Rory O’ Moore, you’re not the man I took you for — an ’ you 
were. Island Magee would stir up the memory of Mullaghmast i” 

It required all O’Moore’s self-control to bear this taunt. The 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


153 


hot warm blood of the princes of Leix took fire at the insult, and 
his generous heart, conscious of its own fervent sympathies, was 
deeply wounded by a sarcasm which more than hinted a want of 
feeling on his part for the unhappy victims of fanatic cruelty. 
His face, pale and flushed by turns, and the fitful light flashing 
from his deep blue eyes, showed at once the struggle going on 
within and the depth of the emotion which he would fain repress. I 
Sir Phelim himself seemed to expect an angry retort, for he 
turned his fierce eyes on Rory with a sort of dubious expression 
as though prepared either to defy or conciliate as occasion might 
require. If he expected an outburst of passion from O’Moore he 
was much mistaken, for the latter, after a few moments of obvious 
self-combat, to the surprise and no small admiration of those 
present, turned calmly to the other chiefs : 

“ I know not if I merit this reproach,” said he, “ mayhap I do 
— although there be none that I know of — not even Sir Phelim 
O’Neill — who hath had this matter more at heart from the first 
hour in which it was planned. What I have feli and do feel for 
our nation’s wrongs my own heart knows, what I have done for 
the cause, it beseems not me to say. Gentlemen of Ulster, I per- 
ceive there be some amongst you with whom I could never agree 
on the mode of warfare to bo pursued — ^my presence is of small 
import here, and much work is to be done in other parts of the 
country — I will, therefore, take my leave of you all for a time, 
wishing you all success and beseeching you, not for my sake, but 
for that of the great cause in which we have all engaged, to cher- 
ish a brotherly feeling amongst yourselves and avoid all unneces- 
sary bloodshed ” 

“ Why, surely, you are not going without your dinner I” put 
in Sir Phelim, with a ludicrous change of manner, while the 
other gentlemen crowded around with eager solicitations. 

But O’Moore, having once made up his mind^ was not to be 
moved from his purpose, although when he shook Sir Phelim ’s 
hand at parting, there was not the slightest trace of ill feeling ; 
visible on his face or in his demeanor. Cullen and his followers 
were well pleased to return to their own country, where all was 
comparative peace, and in very few minutes the small cortege 
was ready for the start. Sir Phelim, in high dudgeon, lounged in 


154 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


his tent while O’Moore was setting out, but his absence gave 
little concern to Rory or the other chiefs, all of whom were as- 
sembled in front of McMahon’s tent to wish him God speed. 
Glancing his keen eye over the stately group, O’Moore bent from 
his saddle and softly whispered : 

“ Heed not his wayward humors— keep together, and work for 
the common good — ^as Christians — till God sends you a fitting 
leader, wanting whom but little can be done. Such a man ye 
all wot of, and. With God’s good aid, he will soon be with you — 
of that I am well assured. Heaven guard ye all, friends and 
gentlemen, till we meet again!” These last words were said 
aloud, and, after exchanging a cordial salute with his friends, 
O’Moore was just starting, when up, at full speed, rode Bishop 
McMahon, followed, as usual, at a respectful distance by his 
faithful Malachy. 

“Well met, Mr. O’Moore,” said the prelate hastily, after ex- 
changing salutes with his cousin of Uriel and the other chieftains ; 
“ it was but last night I heard of your being here, and as I have 
many things of moment to treat of with you, I hurried off this 
morning betimes, the rather,” he added with a smile, that was 
not of mirth but sadness, “ the rather as our good Malachy was 
anxious, likewise, to have speech of you.” 

I am truly happy, then, that your lordship arrived in time,* 
said O’Moore courteously ; “ a few minutes later and I should 
have been on my road southward.” 

The Bishop appeared surprised. “ Why, I thought you pur- 
posed making longer stay with us here, an’ it were but to see 
how our brave clansmen move in war-harness.” 

O’Moore explained in few words what had happened, adding 
that his presence was really more needed elsewhere. The pre- 
late then lowering his voice, and drawing as near as their re- 
spective steeds would go, inquired if there were any recent news 
from Colonel O’Neill, and whether he was soon to be expected. 
Being answered in the affirmative, he appeared much pleased. 

“Well,” said he, “Mr. O’Moore, as you have given me good 
tidings, it is but fair thst I do the same” by you. I have got word 
but yester-eve from my reverend friend. Father Luke Wadding, 
wliom you doubtless know — at least by name.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 155 

“ Surely I do, my good lord,” said O’Moore joyfully ; “ when in 
Spain I saw much of that worthy priest and true patriot, and 
there be few men living whom I hold in higher esteem. My poor 
friend, Hugh O’Neill — now, I trust, with God — was first moved 
to hope and work for our country’s freedom by the glowing elo- 
quence of that great and good man. I warrant me ho is taking 
note of our poor efibrts ” 

“ That is he and more, too, which you will hear of before long — 
he desires to know what truth there is in the reports current 
throughout Europe concerning our rising here — he says, an’ it 
be true that we have already done so much as he has heard, that 
we shall have no lack of succor, and that right speedily. I am 
able to give him good accounts of this northern country, but 
what shall I say regarding the other provinces and the English 
Catholics of the Pale I” 

“ As regards our own tribes in the south and west,” said 
O’Moore, “ I am daily in hopes of their rising — portions of both 
Connaught and Leinster are even now in action — as for the Pales- 
men, I must say that niy hopes of succor from them have dwin- 
dled into nothing — they are too wedded to those fat lands of 
theirs to gainsay the government in aught.” 

“ Ho ! ho !” laughed Sir Phelim O’Neill, who had just come 
within hearing, “ you were ready to measure swords with me, 
but late for saying no worse thing of your Norman ‘ friends and 
kinsmen.’ I joy to think that you have found them out in time 
— how goes it with my good lord of Clogher? — have you heard 
the news from Carrick side T’ 

While Sir Phelim, with some of the other chiefs, horrified the 
Bishop with the fatal story of the last night’s butchery, Malachy 
approached O’Moore, who merely waited to take his leave of tho 
prelate, and begged permission to say something very particular. 
The permission being given with an encouraging smile, Malachy 
opened his large mouth and spoke as follows : 

“It’s in regard to the heavy load that’s on my heart these days 
that I make bold to speak to you, Mr. O’Moore. I can’t sleep 
by night or rest by day only thinking of our noble Tanist that’s 
a prisoner with the bloody villains in Dublin Castle above. The 


156 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Lord 'save him from worse harm, but somehow I’m troubled 
entirely with fearsome dreams and visions concerning him.” 

“ Oh ! that is all but natural, my good Malachy,” said O’Moore 
with assumed gaiety ; “ your faithful heart is sore grieved for your 
young lord’s misfortune, and I do not wonder that your dreams 
should be wild and gloomy !” 

Malachy shook his head. “ There’s more than that in it, sir, — 
ochone ! I know there is, and as we’re entirely in the dark about 
him, with the blessing of God I’m determined to make my way 
to where he is before I’m many days older.” 

O’Moore was touched by the self-forgetting devotion of the faith- 
ful follower, and his voice trembled as he replied: “Alas! my 
poor friend, the journey to Dublin is long and toUsome, and 
supposing even you got there in safety, it might profit you 
little. How could you hope to get speech or even sight of Mr, 
McMahon r’ 

“Well! as for the journey, the Bishop says you know every 
foot of the way, and that if you’d let me follow you when you’re 
going back, I’d get so near Dublin that I could make out the rest 
of the way easy enough— if I was once in the city, God and the 
Blessed Virgin would do the rest, and who knows but I might be 
able to get to do something for Mister Costelloe.” 

O’Moore could not help laughing at Malachy’s grave simplicity, 
whereupon that individual opened his eyes very wide and looked 
somewhat offended : “ You needn’t laugh, sir,” he said in a very 
serious tone, “ for it’s not me alone that’s troubled in mind about 
this matter— there’s his honor Lorcan More Maguire has got 
warnings to no end about my lord Maguire and our Tanist, and 
he wouldn’t believe even the Bishop but something very bad has 
happened to them both — or will happen, if God hasn’t said it, 
before long.” 

The person thus alluded to hearing his own name mentioned, 
— and Malachy, whether by accident or design, spoke it in a raised 
voice, — quickly detached himself from the group around the 
Bishop, and came eagerly forward. He was much excited, for 
he had been warmly combatting some rash proposal of Sir 
Phelim’s, but on hearing of Malachy’s purpose, he became calm 
in a moment, and sti’enuously recommended the visit to Dublin. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


157 


“ An’ it were not,” said he, “ for the press of work put upon us 
by these bloody Scotch I’d be up in Dublin myself before now, 
for I know well there’s something amiss with my poor Connor. 
Not to speak of all the signs and warnings I have got of late, it 
was only the other night I was told by one that came to me in 
my sleep that the Maguire was in sore bodily distress at that 
hour, and that unless something wonderful turned up he’d never 
stand on green grass. It is ease to my mind to think that 
Malachy here may be able to bring us some word of Connor, and 
if he didn’t go, I’d go myself, for, after all, I know there’s enough 
hSre to settle accounts with the enemy — ha ! ha ! if there was 
none but Sir Phelim and our Rory yonder, they’d do between 
them !” 

“ I believe you,” said O’Moore in all sincerity, “heaven only 
grant they go not too far with this thing of revenge. However, 
my duty lies elsewhere, and if the Bishop be content to spare 
Malachy, he can journey with us — ^let me see — to the very 
borders of Dublin county, whence I can send a trusty messenger 
to guide him to the city !” 

The Bishop, being appealed to, declared himself quite willing, 
albeit that he feared Malachy’s simplicity and inexperience, yet, 
■ as he said apart to O’Moore, such persons often fared better in 
trying contingencies than those of sharper wit, so in God’s namo 
he dismissed Malachy with his blessing, commending him earn- 
estly to the guiding care of his Leinster friend. Not so McMahon, 
who, when informed of Malachy’s project, ridiculed the whole 
scheme, and scouted as something altogether impossible the 
notion of his reaching Dublin in safety, or, at all events, of his 
seeing his brother. His chieftain’s mockery disturbed poor 
Malachy not a little, but with the Bishop’s blessing and consent 
he consoled himself, and started hopefully for the unknown re- 
gions of the English Pale, not, however, without giving the pre- 
late sundry charges relating to the care of their slender stock of 
altar linen and other matters of a like nature. 

While Rory O’Moore was rapidly retracing his way to the con- 
fines of the Pale, and thence over the rich plains of Louth to the 
neighborhood of Dundalk, where he expected to meet Colonels 
Plunket and O’Byrne, the Red Hand was smiting in wrath and 


158 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


vengeance the terror-stricken settlers in the northern parts of 
Ulster. On the very day after the receipt of Shamus’s fateful news,_ 
Sir Phelim led a strong force against Sir William Brownlow’s 
Castle of Augher, situate in the county of Tyrone, and the 
place being taken after some resistance, the garrison and house- 
hold servants — all, in short, who were found in arms, were put to 
the sword. At the intercession of Lady Brownlow, however, she, 
her husband and family, were spared, and suffered to quit the 
Castle, of which Sir Phelim immediately took possession. During 
that first scene of slaughter on the part of the Irish troops, and 
in many a bloody act of retributive justice in after days, their 
watchword was “ Island Magee !” and when pity touched their 
hearts or unnerved their arms, the recollection of that wanton 
au.l most savage massacre silenced the voice of compassion. 
From that time forward, the war in Ulster assumed a fiercer and 
more sanguinary character, and its horrors were daily, hourly 
increased by mutual acts of retaliation. Roused to fury by the 
savage cruelty and base treachery of Monroe’s Scotch fanatics, 
and conscious that his own forces had previously been almost too 
sparing of bloodshed. Sir Phelim O’Neill gave full rein to his 
fierce passions, and thenceforward treated the enemies of his 
country according to what he believed their deserts. 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


159 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ A great man gtruggling in the storms of fate, 

And greatly falling with a falling state.” 

Pope 

“ Full many mischiefs follow cruel wrath, 

Abhorr’d bloodshed, and tumultuous strife, 
Unmanly murder, and unthrifty scathe, 

Bitter despite with rancor’s rusty knife. 

And fretting grief the enemy of life.” 

Spenser. 


When the new order of things began to extend into Breffny, 
and the clansmen were more or less imbued with the fierce spirit 
of revenge coming southward on every breeze from the north 
country ; when every tongue was busy with the horrors of the 
Antrim massacre, and many a stout Breffny-man was heard to 
mutter a stern regret for past clemency thrown away, it was then 
that Philip O’Reilly was called upon for the display of those 
high qualities which have since won the admiration of all. Like 
his friend O’Rourke, he knew how to battle for the right without 
staining his soul with murder or degrading the noble profession 
of arms by unnecessary cruelty. O’Reilly and O’Rourke, gener- 
ous, noble and warm-hearted, were neither of them insensible to 
the wrongs and outrages committed on their people — they felt, as 
brave men could not but feel, their hearts swell with indignation 
and disgust at the atrocious massacre which had stirred up - 
Catholic Ulster from end to end, and they, too, panted for 
revenge, but their revenge took a higher range with more solid 
advantages in view. Little gratification would it be to either of 
those Breffny chieftains to see Protestant blood shed in torrents, 


160 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


or to know that every foreigner in the land was put to cruel 
torture ; these things were foreign to their nature, and they never 
could delight in human suffering, but to crush the power of the 
stranger, to smite the oppressor in honorable warfare, and 
raise the old tribes everywhere to that position which they ought 
to hold in their own land — finally, to re-establish the true faith in 
all its pristine glory, and to humble the haughty crest of heresy 
even to the dust — such was the revenge for which O’Rourke and 
O’Reilly thirsted, such were the ends which they had in view in 
raising their respective standards. 

During the stormy days, and weeks, and months which fol- 
lowed the massacre of Island Magee, the clans of Breffny O’Reilly 
were not idle any more than their neighbors of Uriel and Breffny 
O’Rourke. They had their musters, and marches and counter- 
marches amid the swelling hills and pastoral knolls of their an- 
^cient principality. The several chieftains who looked up to 
O’Reilly as their head had all more or less contributed to the 
general success of the northern army, and each, in his own 
district, dispossessed the English planters in a summary manner 
of the castles with which they had studded the country. The 
Protestant inhabitants, necessarily regarded as adherents of the 
government, and, therefore, not to be tolerated, — were ejected 
with very little ceremony, and sent to seek winter-quarters else- 
where, In some places, where an obstinate resistance was made, 
and the native forces suffered, the power of the chief was not 
able to withhold his people from taking revenge in their own 
hands, although even then the executions were confined to the 
most prominent and rabid of the enemy. 

There was one house, however, in O’Reilly’s country — one 
Protestant dwelling which no hostile force ever attacked, no 
random shot ever reached. It was an old-fashioned glebe-house, 
of plain yet respectable exterior, surrounded by pleasant woods 
and fertile, well-tilled fields. Here the Anglican bishop of Kil- 
more had dwelt in peace for many a year ; a man of peace he 
was, a venerable man, devoted to study and the care of his flock, 
meddling not with his Catholic neighbors, in their spiritual affairs, 
but serving them when occasion required, to the utmost of his 
ability. A good man of quiet, unostentatious habits, kind and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


161 


benevolent to all, was Bishop Beddell, of Kilmore, the same 
whom our readers will remember as so favorably mentioned by 
tlie Countess of Ormond, when pleading the cause of the pro- 
scribed Catholics with her husband. Respecting the religious 
convictions of others, this exemplary man was himself respected 
in times when religious rancor was at the highest, and his house 
was a sanctuary never violated by the generous and grateful 
clansmen of Breflfny. By it they marched at all hours of the 
night and day with banners flying, and weapons gleaming, often 
in all the flush of victory, and again, smarting under some recent 
provocation, yet never was their anger directed against the house 
of Bishop Beddell, although it was well known that many Pro- 
testants driven from other parts of the country were sheltered 
within its walls. Had the Anglican prelate been other than he 
' was, and more like to his brothers of the established episcopate, 
his snug glebe-house would have passed into other hands as his 
cathedral and parish churches had done before, but, as it was, 
he lived there in peace, with his friends and his numerous house- 
liold, protected by the noble-hearted O’Reilly and other influen- 
tial Catholics of the country. 

On a certain day when the good Bishop had the numerous oc- 
cupants of his house assembled in his best parlor for some relig- 
ious exercise, word was brought him that the Catholic bishop had 
come to visit him, and was then waiting in an adjoining apart- 
ment. This announcement was heard with dismay by the little 
congregation who naturally feared that it boded no good to them. 
Bishop Beddell, however, calmed their fears and assured them 
that Dr. McSweeny was not the man to take advantage of their 
misfortunes or betray them to the Philistines of the northern 
country. 

“ Howsoever,” said the good Doctor, “ I will go and see what 
the gentleman’s business may be with me, and when I have had 
speech of him I will straightway return hither. Meanwhile, rest 
ye here in peace, supiflicating the Lord on behalf of his poor 
dispersed flock, that he keep them from the hands of Sir Plielim 
O’Neill and such like men of blood.” 

The meeting between the two bishops was characteristic of the 
times. In Dr. IMcSweeny, a tall dignified man of middle age, the 


1G2 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


polished bearing of the foreign ecclesiastic, the graduate of Royal 
Salamanca, was blended with the somewhat patronizing air of a 
man suddenly raised from an outlawed and hidden life to one of 
triumph and jubilation, — from a position of constant dependence 
to one of absolute command and all but unlimited power. 

In the bent form of the old Protestant bishop, and on his mild 
but wrinkled brow, there was deep sorrow, but nothing of defer- 
ence or deprecation. On the contrary there was in his aged eyes 
when he raised them to the face of his visitor a look of something 
like reproach which the other was at no loss to understand, al- 
though quite conscious that he did not deserve it at Bishop Bed- 
dell’s hands. 

The two had met but once before, and the memory of that long- 
past meeting was fresh in the mind of each, giving, it might be, 
a sort of constraint to the demeanor of both: 

“ Times are changed with us, Dr. Beddell, since last we met,” 
observed the Catholic bishop after they had exchanged a some- 
what distant salute. 

• “ Fear not that I forget the change,” the other replied with 
more warmth than he commonly displayed, “ the Lord hath hum- 
bled us, we trust for our good ! — will it please you to sit I” 

“ My time is short,” the Bishop replied, “ for, in these unhappy 
days, my avocations are many and arduous.” 

“ Unhappy days !” repeated Beddell with some sternness, “ and 
whose be the fault, Owen McSweeny I” 

“ I came not hither to dispute a question which the sword 
must decide and the might of armies,” said the Bishop coldly, — 
“ Dr. Beddell, I respect you beyond all men of your persuasion — 
you once served me, too, in a matter of great moment, which I 
wish not to forget— our people are moved to wrath at the present 
time by the recent bloody act of Monroe’s soldiers at Island Ma- 
gee — so that even these kindly men of Breffny, who have hitherto 
respected your name and character, may in some moment of 
frenzied irritation forget all else but your connection with that 
establishment which truly they have no reason to love — nay, hear 
me out. Doctor ! Even O’Reilly’s power may not always be able 
to protect you — that is, "when other portions of our army come 
to pass this way — mine will never fail with Catholic soldiers^ 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


163 


would you tha,t I send a small party hither who, wearing my 
cognizance and colors, may secure you against all attacks from 
our troops V’ 

“I pray you, good brother, excuse my compliance,” said Bed- 
dell hastily ; “I fear me much that the presence of your armed 
followers would do more harm than good in my quiet household. 
And, moreover, if the rebel hordes — excuse mo — if the army of 
Sir Phelim unhappily comes this way, our chance of life or 
escape were small, indeed, even under favor of your reverence’s 
cognizance and colors, which I pray you to believe I hold in all 
respect.” 

The grave caustic irony of these last words was keenly felt by 
Bishop McSvveeny, ^yho, conscious of his own good intentions, 
could not help being somewhat nettled. Taking his hat to de- 
part, he coolly observed : 

“ My reverence’s cognizance may serve you yet. Master Bed- 
dell, for all you seem to set so slight store on my poor ability to 
befriend you. It may be that Philip O’Reilly, on whose protection 
you now depend, may one day fail you — should that ever come 
to pass, you will find a friend io the Bishop of Kilmore.’* 

“Nay, nay, good sir,” cried the old man, following his visitor 
to the door, “ if you mean yourself, assuredly the P’shop of 
Kilmore stands not in your shoes — the Cathedral maketh not 
the Bishop, Owen— I pray you, remember that !” 

“ I remember, John, I remember,” said the Bishop looking 
back over his shoulder with a humorous expression of coun- 
tenance, “ I stand beholden to you for that new lesson in theo- 
logy. But, man. King Charles himself cannot make a Bishop 
here now, and as for Cathedrals, there be no one in all Ireland 
more expert at making them than the O’Reilly, Heaven bless 
him! — except it be Sir Phelim O’Neill, who^has, I hear, turned 
stone mason of late for the building of such like fabrics !” 

“ Ay ! they may laugh and jest that win,” cried Bishop Beddell, 
still more excited, and raising his cracked voice to the utmost ; 
“ but forget not that I am and will bo Bishop of Kilmore, wliile 
God spares me liije I — of that title no man can rob me. Dr. !Mc- 
Sweoiiy, for it came to me from God himself!” 

“ From his late Majesty King James you mean — howsoever, 


164 


THE CONFEDERATE' CHIEFTAINS. 


Dr. Beddell, keep your temper an’ you may not keep your title 
—my humble service to you !” 

“ But you will bear mo witness,” shouted the excited old man, 
“ that I gave not in to your unlawful assumption of my dig- 
nity !” 

“ I pray you, shelter yourself from the cold !” was the Bishop’s 
good-humored answer as he mounted the horse which one of his 
attendants held for him at a little distance down the avenue, and, 
waving his parting salute, he rode away at a brisk trot, wilfully 
closing his ears to the vehement protestations of the superseded 
dignitary of King Charles’s church. 

But, alas! while the good Bishop of Kilmore and the chival- 
rous chieftains of Breffuy were thus shielding from harm the 
venerable man who, in his better days, had shown himself the 
friend of the persecuted Catholics, far different scenes were being 
enacted in various parts of the same province, where the lurid 
flame of civil war burned more fiercely and made greater havoc. 

Far amongst the wild mountains of Tyrone-, where one of the 
rude castles of the O’Neills stood in its strength defending an 
important pass, one of the saddest episodes of that sad drama had 
lately taken place. When Charlemont Castle was taken by Sir Phe- 
lim O’Neill it was by a clever stratagem, and the chief, well disposed 
towards the veteran soldier, who was at once its owner and tho 
commander of its garrison, strictly forbade his followers to harm 
him or his, and, after some deliberation, (during which he had 
been removed more than once for greater security from one 
stronghold to another,) finally resolved on sending him to the 
mountain-fortalice above referred to until such time as he might 
turn his capture to account by obtaining other pilsoners in ex- 
change for him. Thither, then. Lord Caulfield was conveyed, 
with his family, in the early part of November, escorted by a 
party of O’Neill’s men. Lady Caulfield and her children were 
safely lodged in the Castle, her husband was already on the 
threshold when, unluckily for himself, he made some imprudent 
remark concerning Sir Phelim O’Neill, little complimentary to 
that chieftain’s honor or good faith. lie was passing between 
some six or eight of O’Neill’s clansmen at the moment, and their 
hot blood could ill brook words derogatory to their chief. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


105 


“ day that again,” cried one of tliem, “ and you jmss not that 
threshold with your life !” 

Caulfield, unawed by this threat, repeated what he had said, 
and with increased bitterness — another moment and six skenes 
wore in his body : he fell across the threshold a lifeless corpse, 
the victim, surely of his own imprudence, rather than of premed- 
itated treachery on the part of his captors. The cry of terror 
and dismay which arose from their comrades was not needed to 
alarm the culprits, who had hardly done the deed when they 
would have given worlds to recall it. They knew that their 
chieftain’s wrath was terrible and that he would exact a rigorous 
account of the blood they had just shed. 

When Sir Phelim heard of what had happened, he acted with 
a coolness little to be expected from his fiery nature. He neither 
blustered nor stormed as was his wont when laboring under great 
excitement, but ho ordered the ofienders to be brought before 
him, and waited their appearance with a calmness more terrible 
to those around who knew him well, than the most violent mani- 
festation of anger. 

Some minutes elapsed without the offenders making their ap- 
pearance, and Sir Phelim began to wax impatient, especially as, 
from certain significant looks and gestures passing rapidly 
amongst his officers, he concluded that the delay was not acci- 
dental. Pacing to and fro in front of his tent, he repeated his 
command in a louder and more threatening tone — still no prisoners 
appeared, and the angry chief was about to proceed on a quest 
that would likely have proved fatal to those concerned, when a 
stir was noticed in another direction, and round a projecting 
angle of a wall rode up to the general’s tent a young gentleman 
of gi-avo and sedate aspect, with an elderly lady in a cloak and 
riding-hood, mounted on a pillion behind him. They were 
followed by a couple of serving-men whoso composed demeanor, 
round ruddy faces, and smooth, well-combed locks pointed them 
out as of Saxon rather than Gaelic origin. It was English, too, 
that the party spoke, when they came to exchange salutations 
with those of the camp. 

Sir Phelim advanced hastily to assist the lady from her ele- 
vated seat, though his greeting manifested anything but pleasure. 


166 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ In God’s name, mother, what wind blew you hitherward — 
suroly this be no place for hoods or kirtles !” 

“ I know it, Phelim, and I come not from choice, believe my 
word, but pressed by sore trouble and anxiety on your account 
I prayed Alexander to conduct me hither that I might hear 
from your own lips the truth which will either give me rest or a 
heavier load of sorrow to bear for evermore;” ‘ 

“ Why, what in the d ’s name is she driving at, Alick 1” 

cried Sir Phelim with ill-concealed discontent as he turned to 
the gentleman, who was no other than his half-brother, by a 
second marriage. “ What docs it all mean V’ 

Alexander Hovenden only smiled and said : “ she will tell you 
that full quickly !” 

“I came hither, Phelim,” said the aged matron, dropping 
her voice so as to reach only her son’s ear, “ to know from your- 
self in person whether you be chargeable with the death of that 
good man. Lord Caulfield, as people say you are — tell me, my 
son ! what am I to believe concerning this foul deed, for since I 
hoard of it, I cannot eat, or drink, or sleep !” 

“ Mother,” said Sir Phelim O’Neill, and opening his large eyes 
wide ho fixed them full on those of his parent, “ mother, as I 
hope to be saved, I solemnly assure you that I knew not of 
tills murder — for murder I do call it — until it was too late to do 
aught but punish the guilty — which that I do in all sincerity, 
you may see in a few minutes’ time. Why, Mistress Hovenden, 
my good mother, I had hoped much from the imprisonment of 
my Lord Caulfield, whose death I look on as a heavy loss, not to 
speak of the good esteem in which I held him as a right valiant 
old soldier and a jovial, hearty neighbor — but stay — what is this 
— ^how — do mine eyes see right, or is that Shamus I” 

Alas ! it was Shamus, the beloved foster-brother, the trustiest 
vassal that ever followed chief to the field — and there he stood, 
one of the six whom Sir Phelim had already doomed to death. 
Seeing him thus, O’Neill struck his brow with his open palm, and 
turned away in violent agitation. Turning again he walked close 
up to -Shamus, whose downcast eyes scarcely appeared to notice 
his presence. 

“ Shamus !” said the chief, in a voice trembling with emotion, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


167 


“ Shamiis, aro you a murderer — did you aid in slaying a prisoner 
entrusted to your care — a prisoner of rank and note 'I — speak, 
Shamus, did you do this deed 1” 

“ My chief, I did not,^^ said the foster-brother, raising his eyes 
for the first time, “ I have made my death-shrift but now, and I 
tell you— believe me or not — that I am innocent of this crime, 
which Modder and the rest can tell you as well as I.” 

But Modder O’Neill, a fierce-looking mountaineer with fiery 
red hair, when questioned by his chief, declined to answer, al- 
leging that he knew nothing more than that Shamus Beg was on 
the spot — whether he struck the Sassenach lord he could not tell. 

“ God forgive you, Modder !” cried Shamus, in a reproachful 
tone, “ you know well I had neither act nor part in it, only that 
I helped to lift the corpse when them that ought to be in my 
place took to their heels 

“ And who is tliatr' demanded Sir Phelim. 

If you dare !” cried Modder, with a look of savage 

ferocity. 

“ I would dare,” replied Shamus, returning the look with one 
of stern defiance, “only that what I never done before. I’ll not do 
now — that is turn informer — Sir Phelim, if you ihinh me guilty, 
I’m ready to bear whatever punishment you lay on me !” 

“ You must die, then, Shamus, though it breaks my heart to 
say it ” 

“ Son ! son !” exclaimed Mistress Hovenden, coming forward 
with clasped hands, “the same milk nursed you both — for the sake 
of his dead mother who loved you as her own, spare his life — 
spare poor Shamus, I beseech you !” 

“ Motiier, I cannot spare him without" sparing the others, and 
I have sworn by the soul of the great Nial that the murderers of 
Toby Caulfield shall die — die /” he repeated with fierce empha- 
sis, stamping his foot at the same time ; “ if it were my ownhro- 
ther, he should share the same fate ’’ 

“ More shame for you, O’Neill,” said Modder suddenly, “ it 
was on your account we did it — an’ it were to do over again, you 
might do it yourself ” 

“ Silence !” cried the chieftain in a voice of thunder ; “ you 
have left a stain upon my name which your heart’s blood can 


/ 


168 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


never wash out — here, you, Teague, take twelve of the best 
shots in your company, and shoot these six there behind — be- 
hind — ” he strove to keep up a show of stern indifference but 
it would not do — his rough voice sank to a whisper, and at last 
failed him quite — pointing with his hand to the fatal spot which 
he would have mentioned, he rushed away, followed, however, by 
several of the chieftains who, hearing of what was going on, 
hastened to intercede for the unhappy culprits. 

But Sir Phelim, who had already rejected his mother’s inter- 
cession, was little likely to hear them with more favor, and in a 
very few minutes all would have been over with the prisoners, 
when a duplicate image of Modder O’Neill was seen making his 
way through the doggedly silent and discontented crowd, and 
seizing Shamus by the arm as fiercely as though he would have 
torn him to pieces, he dragged him back to the presence of their 
chief, crying with the fury of a maniac : 

“ It was I did it. Sir Phelim, and not him — he wouldn’t inform 
on me, so I will !” 

A cry of anguish from Modder brought all eyes on him, and 
the ghastly visage with which he stared on his twin brother, thus 
throwing himself on death, was a piteous sight to behold. How 
that wild, fierce man must have loved that no less uncouth bro- 
ther of his, and the despairing look with which he regarded him, 
moved every heart. But Phadrig heeded him not at all, so intent 
was he on carrying out his wild idea of justice. 

“ I did it. Sir Phelim, and not Shamus — I stabbed the Sassen- 
ach chief — ^he said you were a base traitor — and I silenced his 
lying tongue with my skene — I did it, and I’m willing to die for 
it, but let Shamus go ! — for he’s innocent !” 

“ Thank God!” murmured Mistress Hovenden, and her young- 
er son advancing shook Shamus warmly by the hand. 

“ It is well,” said Sir Phelim, the ruddy tinge returning sud- 
denly to his cheek and brow, “ release Shamus, Teague, and 
take Phadrig O’Neill in custody. I am sorry for you, Phadrig, 
my honest fellow ! by the sounding Lia Fia\ I am, but justice 
must be done ” 

It was now Shamus’s turn to sue for “ poor witless Phadrig,’* 
and other mediators of higher rank were not slack in their sup- 


•THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


169 


plications for a general pardon of the six, — even his own chap- 
lain adding his entreaties, — but Sir Phelim silenced them all with • 
a ferocity that was partly assumed, and having allowed time, as 
a special grace, for Phadrig to receive the last rites, he consigned 
the prisoners to their fate,* with as' much coolness as though 
they were so many of the hated Scotch troopers. 

The other chieftains, with the sole exception of Rory Maguire, 
withdrew to their quarters in displeasure, and even Mistress 
Hovenden, albeit that she rejoiced to know her son innocent of 
Lord Caulfield’s murder, refused to partake of any refreshment 
at his hands, and left the camp immediately. As for Shamus, he 
hardly knew, he said, whether to he glad or sorry, for, after the 
way in which poor Phadrig acted, he would as soon have died 
himself in a manner, as see him die — to he sure, whatever Sir 
Phelim did was right, hut somehow he could not help thinking 
that the black looks and lowering brows of the clansmen were 
not without good cause, considering that the unlucky old Sas- 
senach had brought his death on himself if ever man did. 

* It is said, in justification of Sir Phelim, that, on hearing of Lord 
Caulfield’s murder, he caused six of his men to be put to death in 
punishment of that crime. 

8a 



.170 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

vv “Experience, wounded, is the school 

' Whore men learn piercing wisdom.*’ 

Lobd Beook. 

“ Those that fly may fight again, 

^ , Which he can never do that’s slain j 

Ilence, timely running’s no mean part 
Of conduct in the martial art.” 

Butler’s IludU^ras. 

The last days of November had come on, and, although the 
insurgent forces had, as I have shown, overrun nearly all Ulster, 
with some comities of Leinster and Connaught — for great part 
of Sligo had recently followed the example of Leitrim — still, 
strange to say, they had never yet encountered the enemy in 
open field. For so far, they had it all their own way, as one 
might say, the few troops who were at the government’s disposal 
being kept so selfishly and at the same time so imprudently 
within the hmits of the capital. Owing to the unaccountable 
supineness of the Lords Justices, Ormond’s military talents were 
comparatively useless, for, under one pretence or another, he 
was kept inactive in Dublin, waiting for forces which were not 
forthcoming, his proud spirit chafed and mortified by the power- 
less condition to which he was reduced, and the little regard 
paid to his proposals, which, had they been acted upon, would 
speedily have arrested the progress of the rebellion. To crown 
his mortification, he saw Sir Charles Coote entrusted with what- 
ever operations were carried on, and empowered to levy forces 
almost at discretion, while he, with his consciousness of superior 
ability, possessing, too, the confidence of his sovereign, and vested 
in some degree with his authority, was yet, through the narrow 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


171 


jealousy and suspicious bigotry of the Lords Justices and their 
party in the Council, compelled to a most disgraceful inactivity. 

Much was expected by Ormond and what might be called the 
royalist party in the Council from the opening of Parliament, 
which, adjourned in the previous August, was to meet in this 
month of November. But, to the utter astonishment of all, ex- 
cept those who were in the confidence * of Parsons and his col- 
leagues, a few days before that fixed on for the opening of Par- 
liament, a proclamation was issued declaring it prorogued till 
the following February. This arbitrary and most insane step 
excited such a storm of indignation and drew forth such angry 
remonstrances from almost all parties, that the Lords Justices 
agreed to have the Parliament sit for one day, provided the two 
estates would unite in a strong protestation against the rebels. 
This was agreed to, and the Parliament assembled, as was its 
wont, within the walls of the Castle, guarded by the whole avail- 
able force of the government, and further secured from unwel- 
come intrusion by the exclusion, by proclamation, of all strangers 
from the city. 

The Lords and Commons after much deliberation agreed on a 
form of protest which, though not at all strong enough for the liking 
of the Executive, was gladly received and industriously scattered 
throughout the country. A parliamentary commission, consisting 
of nine lords and twelve commoners, was then appointed to treat 
with the rebels about laying down their arms, and this done, the 
assembly was prorogued in the most arbitrary and tyrannical 
manner possible by Parsons himself, notwithstanding that a nu- 
merous deputation from each of the two houses was sent to him 
to request that the session might continue a little longer that 
measures might bo taken to suppress the rebellion. This was 
peremptorily refused, and the Parliament was forced to dissolve 
j at the very moment when its deliberations were most necessary 
for the country, and its counsel and direction most required by 
the bulk of the people. 

Meanwhile the Lords of the Pale were in no enviable position. 
Keeping entirely aloof from the rebels, and taking all possible 
care to avoid anything that might appear like sympathy with 
them or their cause, they did all that in them lay to attach them- 


172 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


solves to the government party, and to obtain even a share of 
government confidence. Their application for arms on loyal pre- 
tences was, as we have seen, successful, but only in a very mo- 
derate degree, for the five hundred stand of arms granted to 
them was not more than sufficient for the defence of a single 
county, much less the five inclosed within the Pale. A short way 
would it have gone against the pikes and muskets and hatchets 
of the northern clans, as the Norman lords bitterly said amongst 
themselves. 

Small, however, as the supply was, it was rather encouraging 
to the Palesmen, as showing a certain amount of confidence on 
the part of the Executive, and Lord Gormanstown, to whom the 
arms were sent, lost no time in distributing them as far as they 
went, amongst the border castles of the Pale. It is pr^able that 
the exaggerated reports concerning these military stores would 
only have excited the Ulster chiefs to attack those castles all the 
sooner with a view to obtain, if possible, what they stood most 
in need of, but almost before the news had time to reach them, 
a peremptory order W'as sent to Lord Gormanstown from the 
Castle to send back the arms without delay. Great was his lord- 
ship’s discomfiture and bitter his mortification, for, of course, he 
and his friends had been making a great parade of the trust re- 
posed in them by the powers that were. But even this new in- 
sult they were forced to pocket, and the arms were duly returned 
to the arsenal in Dublin to the no small amusement of Lord 
Ormond and men of his stamp, amongst whom it was jocularly 
remarked that the arms aforesaid having been for days in Popish 
hands must needs undergo some process of purification ere they 
were given for use to godly Protestants. 

Certain of the lords thus insulted repaired forthwith to Dublin 
to offer their humble remonstrances to the Lords Justices, but, 
even there they found a trifling difficulty in the way, for, on 
reaching the metropolis, they were denied admission, the gates 
being closed, they were told, against all persons residing at a 
certain distance from the city. But they went on business of 
importance to the government. It mattered not, the orders were 
peremptory. So the magnates of the Pale, the ultra-loyal sup- 
porters of Parson’s government, and the determined foes of all 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


173 ' 


rebellion — right or wrong — were under the painful necessity of 
turning their backs on the viceregal city in which all their hopes 
were centred. Like the false knight in the old roundelay 

“ They love and they ride away,” 

ride away from government patronage and all its soothing hopes 
and prospects, which, to such very loyal gentlemen, was a sore 
affliction. Blank was the comely oval face of Gormanstown, as he 
turned his horse’s head for home, and Dunsany’s thin, sharp fea tures 
grew wofully Avan, whilst Netlerville, who was also of the party, 
was half inclined to laugh at a rebuff which, of all the Nonnan 
lords, he regretted the least, for reasons known unto himself. 

“ It passes belief,” said Lord Gormanstown, “ that any admin- 
istration should so goad men on to rebellion ” 

“ So far does it outstrip credibility,” put in Dunsany, “ that T 
will never believe this rejection of our services to proceed from 
the Lords Justices or the Council, unless I have it from Parsons 
himself, or some other member of the government. Why, the 
thing is wholly impossible when we bethink us of the favor where- 
with the jirst tender of our services was received ” 

“ I think as you do, my Lord Dunsany,” said Gormanstown 
gravely, “ and we will not give up our hopes of being rightly 
understood without another trial. What say your lordships to 
our meeting — I meanthe chief men of the Pale — at Killeen Castle, 
as the more central, three days hence, and then after holding 
counsel together, to name one or Iavo of our number to repair to 
Dublin and there assure the Lords Justices in a still more solemn 
manner than heretofore of our entire devotion to the royal cause, 
and our anxious desire to be employed in any way their lord- 
ships may deem fitting for the suppression of this dangerous 
rebellion 1” 

Dunsany eagerly caught this new idea, and although Netter- 
ville was clearly of opinion that sufflcient pains had been already 
taken to ^demonstrate their loyalty, he agreed to be present at 
the meeting, and to advertise the noblemen and gentlemen of his 
vicinity where and Avhen it was to be. 

So the over-loyal magnates of the Pale met at Killeen Castle, 


174 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


enjoyed Lord Fingal’s princely hospitality, railed at the hot-headed 
folly of the “ mere Irish,” and appointed Lord Dnnsany to convey 
their loyal and most submissive sentiments to their mightinesses of 
the Castle, with their humble prayer to be allowed to serve the 
state and defend their own possessions at the same time against 
the savage hordes who were already encroaching on their domains. 

Much was expected from this embassy of Dunsany, who, well 
pleased with the office, set out in high spirits for Dublin, ponder- 
ing, doubtless, as he went on the perspective advantages likely 
to accrue to himself and his brethren of the Pale. But Patrick 
Plunket, like many another very sagacious individual of Ms 
stamp, reckoned without his host, and so did those who sent him. 
It was long ere they saw his face again — some of them never on 
earth — and the gracious reply and warm commendation of their 
good dispositions, which they fully expected him to bear back, 
never reached their longing ears, for Sir William Parsons, having 
heard what Dunsany had to say, was so charmed by that noble- 
man’s loyal sentiments and so grateful for the same, that he must 
needs treat him hospitably, and with that laudable intention, 
doubtless, sent him to share the imprisonment of the northern 
chiefs in the dungeons of the Castle.* 

Alas ! for the would-be loyal Catholics of the Pale when 
these tidings reached them ! how blanched their cheeks, how 
ghastly the look which they turned one on the other, and how 
hollow the voice in which each made his brief comment on the 
strange announcement. 

“ Dunsany in prison !” cried Fingal. 

“ The loyalest noble of the Pale !” echoed Gormanstown. 

“ Parsons must be mad !” said the courtly Louth. 

“ There be more than Parsons so,” quoth Netterville bluntly; 
“ methinks all Ireland will set us down as crazy-pates, and, by 
mine honor, not without good reason !” 

“ Who knows,” said a stout elderly gentleman of martial as- 
pect, “ but they may send Sir Charles Coote amongst us some 

♦ Burke, in his British and Irish Peerage, says that this imprison- 
ment of Lord Dunsany lasted for several years— in fact, till after the 
Restoration. So much for the gratitude and honor of Parsons. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


175 


of these days — an’ they do, the Tyrone man’s countenance and 
succor were worth having — there he no man on Irish ground to 
meet Coote in due fonn save O’Neill !” 

“ O’Neill is no general,” said Lord Slaney in a contemptuous 
tone ; “ if he wins it is by good luck and brute force, not by skill 
or prudence.” 

Ay, but there be others of the northern chiefs more skilled 
in warcraft than he,” observed Lord Netterville, “ and there is 
Roger O’ Moore, with whose prudence and sagacity, not to speak 
of other rare qualities, we are all well acquainted.” 

“ Snrely yes,” said Lord Trimbleston, who had not yet spoken; 
“ Roger O’Moore is well fitted for courtly diplomacy — no man 
more wise or discreet, or of more winning tongue than he, but I 
have no faith in his military skill— an’ it come to a trial of 
strength, as it soon will, no doubt, there be no man as yet, 
amongst the insurgent leaders, able to cope for one hour with 
Ormond, or even with Coote — ^brave men and gallant chieftains 
they have — I deny it not — such as O’Rourke, O’Reilly, and 
McMahon — ^men who would do honor to any cause, but they 
have not that knowledge or experience in the art of war which 
might give them a chance of success.” 

“By my faith, Trimbleston,” said Louth with a significant 
smile, “ your speech savors of more interest in their aiFairs than 
becometh a loyal gentleman ” 

“ Loyal !” repeated Trimbleston with emphasis, “ I know not 
but these gallant chieftains of the old stock who have boldly 
taken up arms for country and religion be the loyal men rather 
than we — excuse me, lords and gentlemen — who have been of- 
fering incense to bigotry and injustice — before God this day, I 
shame to think of how we have humbled ourselves before these 
upstart Puritans, the bitter enemies of our faith and all who 
profess it !” 

Lord Trimbleston rose as he spoke these words with honest 
warmth, and many a pale cheek amongst his hearers waxed red 
with the glow of a new-born spirit, and many a knightly gentle- 
man laid his hand on his sword-hilt as he joined in the shout of 
applause which greeted the Baron’s short but significant address. 
Still, there was amongst the Palesmen there assembled too much 


176 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


of the time-serving and timorous spirit which had of late charac- 
terized the degenerate sons of the Norman knights of old for 
any genuine act of patriotism to be elicited from their worldly 
and over-cautious minds — all the experience of the past months 
was not sufficient, it would seem, to show them that their duty and 
’ their true interest pointed in the same direction. They had ever 
regarded the native Irish with contempt, as a race wholly inferior, 
and only fit for that serfdom which their fathers imposed on the 
conquered Saxons of England, and in viewing them still in that 
light they could not or would not make common cause with them, 
until every vestige of hope was taken from them by the acts of 
that government to which they clung with the blindest infatuation. 

Meanwhile, the Ulster forces, unwilling longer to be cooped 
up within their own limits when so much was to be done in the 
other provinces, began to penetrate in large bodies into the ad- 
joining counties of the Pale. Crossing the borders with banners 
flying, they attacked and took several strong Castles ; at length 
growing bolder from success, the O’Reillys and McMahons laid 
siege to the house of Lord Moore at Mellifont, within a few miles 
of Drogheda, and succeeded in taking it by storm, to the ex- 
treme mortification of its noble owner, who was justly considered 
as one of the best officers in the government service. With his 
family, however, he retreated to Drogheda, leaving his lordly 
manor in the hands of the Catholics, and what was far more of 
triumph to them the sacred vale of Mellifont, at whose ruined 
and desecrated shrines the chieftains knelt with swelling hearts 
to give thanks for their success, and invoke the blessing of God 
and His saints on their future efibrts to redeem His suffering 
people. Where the ill-starred Dervorgil wept and prayed of old 
in penitential mood, the brave defenders of their country and 
their creed, catching fresh enthusiasm from the mournful yet 
hallowed scene, vowed to do yet greater things for the holy cause 
to which their lives were pledged, nor sheath their swords till 
freedom and justice w'ere established in the land on a firm basis. 

So long as the native chieftains kept within the bounds of the 
northern province, the government were clearly well content to 
let them work their will on the king’s lieges, godly and ungodly, 
as the case might be, but when once they crossed the marches 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 177 

and began to clear the bawns of the Pale of the fat beeves which 
were wont to supply magnificent sirloins for Dublin boards, and 
still worse, when their rebellious flags began to appear on castle- 
keeps within a score of miles of the metropolis, as in the case of 
Mellifont, then, indeed, it was time to bestir themselves, or there 
was no knowing how soon the very gates of Dublin might creak i 
and shiver beneath their ponderous axes. W ord was even brought I 
them at the council-board that the rebels meditated a speedy at- 
tack on Drogheda, headed by Sir Phelim himself with the chosen 
men of his army. 

Immediately a commission was issued to raise four regiments 
in the vicinity of Dublin, and with one of these, a thousand 
strong, and a aoodly troop of horse. Sir Charles Coote was sent 
to scour the counties of Meath and Louth and drive the rebels 
back into Ulster, giving no quarter to such as fell into his hands. 

The latter part of the instructions Coote heard with a sardonic 
smile, believing the order somewhat superfluous in his case. 

A strong reinforcement was, at the same time, sent to Drogheda 
under the command of Sir Patrick Wemyss. These troops, on the 
eve of their departure, were reviewed by Lord Ormond, who 
pronounced them hardly sufficient for the purpose, but the Lords 
Justices would not consent to any further reduction of the me- 
tropolitan forces, and Sir Patrick had nothing for it but to set 
his column in motion, while the Earl bowed with lofty grace and 
a smile of forced acquiescence. 

Wemyss and his men were alike disheartened by the Earl’s 
opinion of their insufficiency in point of numbers, and, to make 
matters worse, the day was dull and misty, tlireatening rain. 
More experienced soldiers would have probably exulted in the 
prospect of meeting a superior force of the wild Irish in hopes 
of signalizing their powers, but Sir Patrick’s command w'as com- 
posed entirely of raw recruits from the new levies ; men, for the 
most part, to whom the smell of powder was less trying than the , 
glitter of an Irish skene. On they marched, however, with as I 
great show of military ardor as though their valor had stood the 
test of an hundred fields. The level plains of Dublin were soon 
passed, and many a mile of the rich lands of Louth, and already 
the confidence of the Palesmen began to revive when Balbriggan 
8 ^ 


178 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and Balruddery were left far behind, and they found themsclvM 
nearing the place of their destination. The picturesque heigiits 
on the Nanny-water were already in sight, or ought to be — for 
the cold, thick mist rested cheerlessly on every object— when 
a horse was heard approaching at full gallop across the fields, 
and. Sir Patrick sending a scout or two to reconnoitre, they re- 
turned with a courier sent by Lord Gormanstown to apprise tlie 
officer in command that a strong detachment of the Irish army 
was stationed at Julians-town bridge, only a little farther on, 
awaiting their approach. 

At this confirmation of their worst fears, the men were at first 
seized with trepidation, and were more disposed to retreat than 
to go forward, but Sir Patrick, himself a brave soldier, repre- 
senting to them in brief but stirring terms the disgrace which 
was sure to follow such a step, and, moreover, the heavy punish- 
ment which they might expect, the column again turned its head 
towards Drogheda and marched steadily down the gentle slope 
leading to the bridge. It was little wonder if the stoutest heart 
there beat more quickly, and the bravest held his breath, for 
they knew not but death awaited them all in the misty depth of 
the valley. Urged on, however, by their gallant leader, they 
gained the bridge, crossed it, and marched in good order up the 
opposite acclivity without any other obstacle opposing their way 
than the mizzling rain which now began to beat in their faces. 

Elated by this agreeable disappointment, the men were with 
difficulty kept from expressing their joy in a loud “ hurrah,” but 
they said one to another with bounding hearts and gleeful eyes : 
“Now for Drogheda — the cowardly rebels will scarce venture so 
near the guns of Millmount 

But their commander was far from sharing their confidence, 
and as he rode on at the head of his column, his face had a stern 
and determined look, his keen gray eyes piercing the mist in all 
directions as though seeking some expected object. Without no- 
ticing his ominous silence, his men kept laughing and talking 
amongst themselves, in anticipation of the guardroom fire and the 
foaming tankard, when, just about a quarter of a mile beyond the 
bridge, they were struck dumb by the fierce clan-shouts of an 
Irish host, as it seemed to them, and the equally terrific sound of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


179 


pipe and war-trump striking up a martial strain. At the same 
moment, the rain ceased, and the mist clearing partially away, 
disclosed to the aflrighted soldiers of the Pale what appeared 
to them a whole army of the enemy, the foot drawn up in five 
battalions, flanked on either side by a troop of horse. 

Immediately the English bugles sounded a charge, and Wemyss 
and his officers tried hard to get their men in order of battle. 
Just, however, when they seemed to have succeeded, another 
shout from the Irish ranks, and a slight forward movement, struck 
new terror into the hearts of the amateur soldiers, and with scarcely 
a glance at the formidable array before them, they fairly turned 
their backs and fled, notwithstanding that their commander and 
others of his subordinates threw themselves from their horses and 
did what men could to bar their retreat. Maddened by the yells 
of derisive laughter from behind, and yet not daring to turn on 
the fierce foe whom they fancied in full pursuit, the Dublin men 
rushed with headlong speed towards the bridge, little recking 
that they turned their backs on Drogheda and left its garrison 
to their fate. 

Well for them that the mist closed in behind them thick and 
heavy, so as to prevent the possibility of pursuit — else had they 
never reached Dublin with the news of their own disgrace. As 
it was they efiected their retreat without any loss, leaving the 
enemy a bloodless victory, and what they well loved, a standing 
joke in relation to “ the battle of Julians-town.” 

They had reached Swords on their way back when, cowering 
in the shade of the old round tower, with a view to protect him- 
self from the now pelting rain, they found an individual mounted 
on a shaggy pony and enveloped from head to waist in the many- 
folded scarf of home-made woollen then generally worn by the 
lower orders of the native Irish, after the manner of a Highland 
plaid. This personage, having his back turned towards them, 
w'as wholly unconscious of the approach of the soldiers till a 
loud halloo, coupled with the epithet of “Irish dog,” made him 
turn his head just as a heavy grasp was laid on his shoulder. 
The ludicrous mixture of surprise and terror depicted on his 
lank features made the Palesmen laugh heartily, and well it was 


180 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


for him that he presented so woe-begone a spectacle as to move 
even tlie mortified and crest-fallen W emyss to mirth. 

“ What do you here, you pitiful d 1 1” said the sergeant 

VN’hose clutch was on his shoulders ; “ be you a spy or what 

“Dominus Vobiscura” -was the reply, — “no, no, God forgive 
me for saying the like to — to — ahem ! I’m no spy, an’ it please 
you, sir ! — I’d scorn the like.” 

“ Where do you come from, then, and who the foul fiend are 
you — quick, for we cannot stand here in the rain waiting on 
such a scarecrow !” This was from one of the officers* 

“ I come from McMahon’s country, and if you’re curious to 
know my name I’ll tell you, and welcome — ^my name is Malachy 
McMahon. There’s another name they give me at home, but 
that’s the right one.” 

“ McMahon’s country !” repeated Wemyss, “ why the man’s a 
fool — what brought you here all alone if that be your dwelling- 
place 1 Answer me, fellow !” 

“Well, it’s a little business I had in Dublin,” said Malachy, 
“ if I could get there— but dear knows when that will be, except 
your worship or some of these good-looking sassum dergs would 
be pleased to direct me, for I’m wandering like a ghost hither and 
thither in search of it, and never seems to be coming any nearer ! 
There’s a great man there that I’d wish to have a word with.” 

“ And who may the great man be, you numscull I” 

The first name that occurred to Malachy was that of Ormond, 
but luckily for himself, and perhaps for the Earl, too, he cun- 
ningly changed his mind ; “ I don’t know if you know him,” said 
the keen Monaghan man with a look of great simplicity ; “ but 
anyhow his name is Sir William Parsons, a very fine gentleman 
and a great lord besides, at least people say so, down where I 
come from !” 

Many of the soldiers laughed outright, but not so Sir Patrick 
Wemyss. 

“ Why not tell us at first that your business was with him 
he said shortly. 

“ Well, because you didn’t ask me the question !” 

“Take him along!” cried Wemyss, “and march!” an order 
which was promptly obeyed, for the men were on thorns while 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


181 


they stood, and had they dared would have made short work of 
the “ d d Irish fool,” as they very erroneously styled Malachy. ✓ 

“ Take me along !” echoed McMahon, “ why, it isn’t a prisoner 
I’d her 

“You want to have speech of Sir William Parsons,” said 
Wemyss sternly; “ no more talk, hut come with us !” 

It would have fared harder with poor Malachy had not Sir 
Patrick set him down in his own mind as an informer, a class of 
persons then largely employed and liberally encouraged by the 
government. 

In such company and under such circumstances it was that our 
friend from Uriel made his entry into Dublin, but he knew Par- 
sons too well by reputation to let the joke go so far as appearing 
in his presence. Passing under the gloomy arch of one of the 
city gates, he contrived to detach himself from the soldiers who, 
confused and ashamed of their ignoble conduct, had little atten- 
tion to bestow on him. Even Wemyss thought no more of him 
till he was about to appear himself before the Lords Justices to 
give an account of his unlucky expedition. It is unnecessary to 
say that the man from McMahon’s country was nowhere to be 
found. Sir Patrick finding himself thus duped, looked blank 
enough, but he little thought how often Malachy na Soggarth 
made merry amongst the clansmen of Uriel over the trick he 
played on the Sassenach chief, whom he got so cunningly “ to 
show him the way to Dublin !” 



182 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ Ah me ! what perils do environ 
The man that meddles with cold iron ! 

For tho’ Dame Fortune seem to smilo 
And leer upon him for awhile, 

Shs’ll after show him, in the nick 
Of all his glories, a dog- trick.” 

Butler’s Hudtbras. 


’Tis necessity 

“ To which tho gods must yield ; and I obey. 

Till I redeem it by' some glorious way.” 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 

But whilst the Catholic arms were beginning to command 
fear, if not respect, within the territory of the Pale, how was it 
with Sir Phelira and the vast multitude who followed his stand- 
ard 1 Alas ! the flush of conquest which attended his flrst ca- 
reer had subsided into a dull, cheerless state that was neither 
life nor death — it was partly struggle and partly the inaction of 
failing hope. The castles he had won were for the most part 
still in the hands of his friends, so, too, were the smaller and less 
important towns, but some of the principal forts had unhappily 
been retaken by the enemy, and that through no want of bravery 
or perseverance on the part of the Irish, but because leaders of 
greater skill than any they then had to boast of were sent from 
Carrickfergus and other places against them with artillery and 
other war equipage of which they were wholly destitute. Even 
powder and other ammunition would have long since failed them 
had it not been for the supplies which they succeeded in wrest- 
ing from the enemy. Now when tlie remaining fortresses were 
too well garrisoned and supplied with military stores, and the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


183 


Scotch forces increased by a strong reinforcement under Lord 
Leven were scattered in large bodies over northern Ulster, there 
was little chance of continued success for an inexperienced ge- 
neral like Sir Phelim, with a raw, undisciplined host, badly armed 
and badly accoutred in every way.* In fact, when the first en- 
thusiasm began to die for lack of any substantial encouragement, 
and obstacles, not a^ first foreseen, began to arise and went on 
increasing in magnitude from day to day, the very numbers of 
Sir Phelim’s forces became an incumbrance of which he knew 
not well how to dispose, for with abundance of animal courage 
and the most sincere devotion to the cause, he was unhappily 
wanting in those other qualities which constitute an able general. 
He was, moreover, too much under the control of passion to ac- 
quire much influence over others, or command that respect to 
which his position entitled him. Many of his associates in com- 
mand were repelled by his harsh, overbearing demeanor, and 
mortified by seeing the boyish gusts of passion to which, on the 
slightest provocation, he gave way. With heavy hearts they ac- 
knowledged to each other that with such a leader there was little 
prospect of success, especially as no succor was coming from 
abroad, and no solid or lasting advantage had been gained at 
home after the first weeks of the rebellion. 

Newry, so early taken by the impetuous valor of Magennis, 
was retaken by Scotch troops under Lord Conway, after being 
but a few weeks in possession of the Irish. Other cities which 
yet remained in their hands were expected to share the same fate 
as soon as a reasonable force presented itself with proper provi- 
sion for a siege. 

Yet still Sir Phelim fought on, wherever fighting was to be 
done, his temper, as may well be imagined, no way improved 
by the discouraging aspect of his present affairs, but his courage 
and activity, if possible, increased by the reverses he had lately 
encountered. The clouds were gathering darkly around him, 

* Lord Ormond, writing to the King about this time, makes the fol- 
lowing remarks; “The rebels are in groat numbers, for the most part 
very meanly armed with such weapons as would rather show them to 
bo a tumultuary rabble than anything like an army.” See Carte’s 
Ormond. 


184 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and no gleam of hope illumined his soul — no aid came from 
abroad, no sign of life amongst the noble or wealthy of the land 
at home, yet stout Sir Phelim was undismayed, and bravely 
holding his head above the surging waves, resolved by a bold 
effort to recover the ground he had lost, and with it the prestige 
of success so necessary to revive the drooping spirits of his 
followers. 

“ We will march eastward and besiege Drogheda,” said Sir 
Phelim to his friend Magennis, as they strode to and fro together 
in the winter twilight in the neighborhood of the camp. “We 
must do something. Con, — it may go hard with us, an’ we rest 
longer on our oars.” ' 

The gallant chieftain of Iveagh was never the man to throw 
obstacles in the way of a bold attempt promising any degree or 
chance of success, and, moreover, he had been for several days 
urging upon his impracticable leader the necessity of pushing 
the war beyond their own borders. He was, therefore, well 
pleased with this proposal, the full merit of which, however, he 
was content to leave with Sir Phelim as a healing unction for 
his wounded vanity. A council of the principal oflScers was im- 
mediately summoned, and the siege of Drogheda being proposed, 
met with their entire approbation. As “ the key of the north,” 
and commanding the Boyne, the old town was, in itself, valuable as 
a military port, and as being directly on the road to Dublin, and 
within less than half a day’s march of the capital, it became of 
the last importance to secure it. 

The success at J ulians town and the capture of Lord Moore’s house 
at Mellifont — ^both localities in the immediate neighborhood of 
Drogheda — ^had contributed to inspire Sir Phelim with what seem- 
ed otherwise an over-bold design, considering the pusillanimous 
neutrality, to say the least of it, observed by the Lords of the Pale. 
The country around Drogheda was all in their hands — there was 
no reason to hope for sympathy, much less actual assistance from 
them, and, as the chiefs bitterly said amongst themselves, it was 
a good prospect for the Catholic army of Ulster to have probably 
to fight its way through the domains of the Catholic nobles of 
Leinster. 

It was hard to see those degenerate Normans, if not openly 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


185 


arrayed against the defenders of their faith, at least disposed to 
stand aloof with folded arms while the tyrannical power of the 
government was brought to bear upon them, unaided and alone 
as they were left to oppose it with the scanty means at their 
command. Where, alas ! was the boasted chivalry, the lofty 
spirit of the old Norman knights who were wont to style them- 
selves the champions of the faith — they whose magnificent foun- 
dations of piety still covered the soil of Ireland — they who had 
done such great things for the Church of Ireland, in atonement 
for their oppression and spoliation of its native tribes Had the 
sons of the Fitzgeralds, the Plunkets, the Cusacks and the*Dil- 
lons, the Burkes and the Butlers, all lapsed from the faith which 
their fathers loved, and fallen so low as to worship at the shrines 
of Moloch and Mammon with the other creatures of the govern- 
ment I There were moments when the high-souled Catholics of 
Ulster could believe even that of them, from the tales which con- 
stantly reached them concerning their base truckling to the 
powers that were. It might be that they did them injustice, but 
of that there seemed little probability. 

It was just when the northern chieftains had given up all hope 
of any patriotic movement, or friendly co-operation on the part 
of the Palesmen, that a bleak December day found a gallant show 
of lords and gentlemen of high degree with a numerous train of 
their respective followers assembled on the hill of Crofty, in the 
fair county of Meath. The rounded crest of the gently-swelling 
eminence commanded a view far and wide over plains extending 
into the adjoining counties of Louth and Cavan, and ever as the 
chief men of this assembly rode to and fro on their elevated plat- 
form, they cast many an anxious, scrutinizing glance into the far 
distance on every side as though expectation were becoming te- 
dious. The while they conversed amongst themselves with the 
gravity of men engaged, or about to engage, in some affair of 
great moment. Yet, considering the troubled aspect of the times, 
the whole array, although imposing, was wonderfully void of 
martial show. Neither banners nor music were there, nor weapon 
of any kind, and even the numerous company of men in attend- 
ance were characterized by the same staid and sober gravity 
which marked the demeanor of their lords. The calm patience. 


180 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


too, with which all waited, hour after hour — whatever their pur- 
pose might be — was worthy of admiration, and sufficiently de- 
noted, were there no other mark of distinction, that it was not 
the hot Milesian blood of the natives which flowed in their veins. 

As the mid-day hours wore on, the stillness was broken from 
time to time by the arrival of some lord or gentleman, with his 
band of retainers, when a grave salute being exchanged, and 
perhaps some brief inquiries between friends or acquaintance, 
the new comers took their station according to their respective 
grades, and like water broken by some falling pebble, the ripple 
presently subsided and all was still again. The scene was im- 
pressive as well from the high bearing of the chiefs as the vast 
number and respectable appearance of their followers. 

After some hours had thus passed, a stir was visible amongst 
tlie anxious watchers on the hill, and a murmur of “ They come ! 
they come !” was heard passing through the crowd below. Pre- 
sently the sound of martial music came floating on the breeze — 
near and nearer it came — and more distinct, then approaching 
the hill from the northward was seen a gallant band of soldier- 
men arrayed in the picturesque costume of the native troops, with 
many-colored woollen scarfs of ample dimensions wrapping their 
brawny shoulders, their lower limbs encased in truis and buskins, 
and on their heads the graceful hanging cap traditionally dear to 
the Celts of Ireland. A banner they had, too, a gay, green banner, 
with the royal sunburst emblazoned on one side and Ireland’s harp 
flaunting on the other. With a light, quick step and a buoyant 
mien they marched up the slope, those bold borderers from the 
Irish country, and the younger gentlemen on the hill catching, as 
it were, a gleam of their bright and hopeful spirit, gave vent to 
sundry exclamations of pleasure and glad surprise as they rode 
to the front to watch the approaching cavalcade* 

“ By my faith,” cried Sir John Netterville, for he, with his 
father, was of the expectant party ; “ by my faith and honor, 
these be men to stand by one’s side in tented field — ha, there I 
see my old friend Roger — why, man” — ^he called out at his top- 
most voice, as 0’ Moore, with some four or five other gentlemen, all 
in military costume, detached themselves from their company and 
rode up the hill— “ why, man, you must count largely on our 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


187 


-patience, for I swear we have been here— some of us at least — 
since morning hours. Well for you that it is your own body and 
hones we see, or belike trouble might come of this delay !” 

O’Moore apologized in his usual brief yet forcible manner for a 
delay wholly unintentional on his part of that of his friends, whom 
he severally introduced to the crowd of Norman lords and gentle- 
men as Colonels McMahon, O’Byrne, Plunket, the O’Reilly of 
Breflfiiy, and Captain Fox. These officers, arrayed in a costume 
half Irish, half Spanish, presented a remarkable contrast to the 
soberly-attired gentlemen of the Pale in their black broadcloth 
cassocks, broadly edged with plush, and loose, long riding-cloaks, 
all of the same, or some other almost equally sombre hue. Their 
broad-leaved hats, too, were more akin to those worn by the Puri- 
tans than any other head-gear of that age, so that, what with tho 
cold reserve of their manner and the cheerless character of their 
personal attire, these proud Normans of the Pale were to all appear- 
ance the very opposite of the gay, light-hearted, soldieidy men 
who came there to represent the native Irish. 

On the part of the Palesmen, seven of their chief nobles rode 
forward to treat with O’Moore and his friends. There was Gor- 
manstown who, as Governor of the County, had drawn this assem- 
bly together by his warrant; Fingal, the premier p^er of tho 
Pale; Louth, Trimbleston, Slaney, Netterville, and the gallant 
son of the latter. There was one wanting of the seven great 
lords — Plunket of Dunsany was far away the tenant of a vault in 
Dublin Castle, but though absent he was not forgotten, the 
thought of his wrongs, and the outrage committed on their order 
in his person, rankled in the hearts of his peers, and had, doubt- 
less, contributed no little to bring about that remarkable con- 
ference. 

When the parties had come within speaking distance. Lord 
Gormanstown, on a sign from Lord Fingal, moved to the front, a 
little in advance of the others, and 0’ Moore instantly following his 
example, the chieftain of Leix and the Norman peer were brought 
within a few feet of each other in sight of their respective friends 
and followers. Then Gormanstown, with a grave and formal 
bow, — to which 0’ Moore responded by raising his plumed hat 


188 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


with that winning grace peculiar to himself, — thus addressed the 
Irish chieftain : 

“ As the Castos Rotulorum of this county of Meath, Mr. 
O’Moore, I desire to know wherefore it is that certain of your 
Irish troops have of late trespassed on this our territory of the 
Pale, which as loyal subjects we are bound to keep and to hold 
intact for our lord the king — further, I would know, most worthy 
sir, why you with your company appear in arms at this present,- 
I and mine being here assembled with peaceful intent and no 
other V' 

“ As regards your first question, my lord of Gormanstown,” 
O’Moore replied with dignified composure, “ we would have it 
known of all men that in taking up arms and calling on all true 
Catholics to aid us, we have but two undoubted objects in view, 
namely, the defence of our holy faith, unjustly and most cruelly 
proscribed, the vindication of our rights as citizens, and further- 
more, the assertion of our sovereign lord the king his righteous 
prerogative, traitorously assailed by certain of his rebellious 
lieges. These, my lord, be our ends in waging this war.” 

“ As a Christian and a man of honor,” said Gormanstown with 
impressive earnestness, “ I ask you, Mr. Roger O’Moore, if these 
be the sole ends and objects which you have in view — behind 
these are there no narrower and more selfish objects, less worthy 
the appeal to arms V’ 

“ As God liveth,” said O’Moore solemnly, and he raised his 
right arm towards heaven, “ as God liveth, my lord, I have 
specified truly unto you the grounds of our quarrel with the 
present government of this country — false and double-dealing 
men as we hold them to be, and traitors to the king their 
master as they are to God and to us over whom they are ap- 
pointed to rule in justice and in all righteousness. The God of 
all truth who hears my words, knows whether I speak according 
to truth this day !” 

After a short consultation with the principal lords and gentle- 
men of his company. Lord Gormanstown advanced again to 
O’Moore, and extending his mailed hand, which the chieftain, it 
may be presumed, was not slow to take, he said slowly and 
distinctly : 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


189 


“ If that bo so, Mr. O’Moore, we of the Pale will join heart 
and hand in your loyal and commendable efforts on behalf of God 
and the king’s majesty.” 

This announcement, made with the calm precision and the 
dignified composure so characteristic of the speaker, yet without 
the slightest tinge of arrogance or affected condescension, was 
instantly communicated by O’Moore’s companions to their anx- 
ious followers at the base of the hill, while Rory himself hastened 
to express in a few appropriate and well chosen words the plea- 
sure he received from, and the importance he attached to, this 
formal adhesion. 

O’Byrne, less accustomed to control his feelings, and, per- 
haps, not quite so conversant with the etiquette of the day, rode 
eagerly forward and shook Lord Gormanstown warmly by the 
hand, while his whole face glowed with joyful animation. 

“ By St. Kevin !” he cried, “ your words are right welcome to 
our ears, my lord of Gormanstown ! Heretofore, we have been 
fighting the battle single-handed, as one may say, but that could 
only last awhile, do our best — and surely it will nerve our arms 
with now strength when Clan- Saxon of the Pale arises in its 
might to strike with us for homes and altars !” 

“ It was high time they should,” said McMahon quickly, “ an’ 
they held back much longer all the water in Lough Erne would 
not wash out their disgrace. I give you joy. Lord Gormanstown, 
for that you and these other noble gentlemen have taken it in 
head to retrieve your character in the eyes of Catholic Europe 
ere yet it be too late.” 

However nettled the Palesmen might have been by this cha- 
racteristic allusion to their tardiness, they were not the men to 
give way to unseemly ire, especially where they knew that no 
actual insult was meant. A general introduction immediately 
took place, and after some brief inquiries from those of the Pale 
as to the present prospects and intentions of their new allies. 
Lord Gormanstown requested the High Sheriff, who was present, 
to convene another and larger meeting for that day week, to be 
held on the hill of Tara. 

“ The place is favorable to our purpose,” said his lordship aside 
to 0’ Moore and the other Irish chieftains. “It is central for us 


190 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


of the Pale counties, and as the seat of the ancient royalty of 
this kingdom it must needs be dear to you of the Milesian race, 
who will, I doubt not, deem it a fitting spot for the solemn con- 
summation of our alliance !” 

This graceful compliment to the national traditions of an un- 
kinged people was both understood and appreciated by the 
chieftains of the old race, and when, the auspicious conference 
being closed, the parties separated to retrace their respective 
ways homeward, the friendly farewell clasp exchanged between 
the Irish chiefs and the Norman nobles was accompanied by a 
hearty cheer from their followers on either side, those amongst 
them who stood high enough on the sloping sides of the hill to 
have a view of what passed, telegraphing their friends and fel- 
lows who were not so fortunate. 

While this auspicious alliance was being formed between the 
Catholic English of the Pale and the old Irish, as they were 
called, the national cause was rapidly gaining ground in other 
parts of the kingdom. The Kavanaghs of Carlow, with the 
O’Byrnes and O’Tooles of Wicklow, had marshalled their clans 
and raised their standards for God and the right. But the faith- 
ful tribes of Wicklow had already paid dear for their patriotic 
efforts to aid their brethren in the north. Sir Charles Coote, 
with his sanguinary bands, recalled from Meath for the express 
purpose, was sent amongst them, armed with plenary authority 
to bum, harry, and massacre all before him. 

The Castle of Wicklow being closely besieged by the O’Byraes, 
Coote was ordered to relieve its garrison, which he did with that 
wanton slaughter of the besiegers with which no other general 
would disgrace his arms. Being once in possession of the for- 
tress, he took occasion to make daily excursions amongst the 
natives of the town and its vicinity, just by way, he jocularly 
said, of making their acquaintance. - The nature of these visits 
may be easily understood, and was so well understood by the 
surrounding population that the gates of- the old Castle were no 
sooner heard to turn on their hinges than mothers fled with their 
young children to the recesses of the neighboring mountains, 
while the men, with stem and desperate resolution, seized whatever 
weapons they could find, and, drawing together for mutual de- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


191 


fence, awaited in silence the descent of Coote’s murderous troops 
from the Castle. Scenes of horror were enacted on these occa- 
sions, the recital of which makes the blood run cold. 

In Coote’s first descent upon the town, the inhabitants taken 
by surprise, were wholly unprepared for the humorous pranks 
wherewith the soldiers under his command, and under his eyes, 
amused themselves. Babes were torn from the arms of their 
shrieking mothers and tossed on the points of spears or bayonets 
from one to another of the soldiers, amid shouts of laughter and 
yells of delight. And Coote himself stood by, enjoying the rare 
sport, and commending the dexterity of their performances.* 
How females were used in these pastimes, it becomes not us to 
tell, but in very many cases,* they were ripped open by way 
of winding up. This, however, was not sufiered to be of fre- 
quent occurrence, for, as I have said, after the first or second 
visit of these barbarians the women and children took refuge in 
Clie caves and fastnesses of the mountains on the least intimation 
of their approach. Even there they did not always escape, for, 
on one occasion, some of the soldiers having learned where a 
party of the' helpless fugitives were concealed, swore with hellish 
glee that they would smoke them out. To work they went, 
made a fire of brushwood at the mouth of the cave, and then plac- 
ing themselves in silence round with bayonets screwed on their 
muskets, they coolly awaited the result of their pleasant frolic. 

They had not to wait long, for no sooner had the thick smoke 
penetrated to the interior of the cavern than groans and choking 
cries were heard, at first in the feeble voices of children, then 
came the half-suppressed shrieks of women, and a chorus of 
fiendish laughter burst from the savage listeners without. Pre- 
sently the sounds from within were heard to approach the aper- 
ture, and through the flickering flames were seen fearful-looking 
female forms, some with infants in their arms, all blackened 
and begrimed with smoke, attempting to make their way through 
the fire. At this sight, compassion moved the heart of one of 

* Unfortunately these Wicklow horrors are matter of history- 
oven Protestant writers admit that Sir Charles Coote exercised all 
manner of cruelty amongst the Wicklow tribes. 


192 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the officers, and seeing the soldiers thrusting the unhappy crea- 
tures bacls into the fatal cave with their bayonets, he sternly re- 
buked them, and made an eflSort to have the fire extinguished. 
Alas ! he himself was reprimanded by his fierce superior from be- 
hind in a voice of thunder, and ordered immediately to his 
quarters. 

Captain Jameson bowed and walked away, well pleased at heart 
to escape from such a scene. That was the last time he ever 
went out with Ooote, for next day he sent in his resignation and 
retired from the army in disgust. 

Before the gallant band of soldiers quitted that mountain-glen, 
they made sure that no human being remained alive in the cave, 
for they drove the fire farther and farther into its mouth, until at 
last the groans, and cries, and piteous moans, all died away, 
and the silence which followed assured them that their work 
was finished. 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


193 


CHAPTER XVI. 

point, 

Shakespeare. 

✓ 

Shakespeare. 

The middle of December had hardly arrived when Drogheda 
was in the condition of a closely-beleagured town. Some twelve 
thousand* of the allied Irish army occupied the villages for miles 
around. The meeting at Tara had been followed by immediate 
action on the part of the lords and gentry of the Pale. Each 
nobleman and gentleman undertook to raise a certain number of 
men within the limits of his own district. Lord Gormanstown 
was appointed commander-in-chief of the army, to be raised in 
the five counties, and Lord Fingal was commissioned to act as mas- 
ter of the horse. The Ulster forces were still, of course, under 
the command of Sir Phelim O’Neill, with Art Oge McMahon ; 
Philip O’Reilly and Sir Con Magennis as subordinates in com- 
mand. Roderick Maguire also commanded a troop of horse, 
and Lorcan a company of infantry. The junction with the Lords 
of the Pale and their adherents infused new life, with new hope into 
the easily-disheartened or easily-elated Irish, and when the siege 
of Drogheda commenced, and they found themselves undertak- 
ing it under auspices so favorable — provisions supplied in plenty 
by the fruitful territory of .the Normans — they were quite san- 
guine of success, notwithstanding the well-known strength of the 
place and the numerous garrison which the voice of rumor as- 
vsigned to it. 

* D’ Alton, in his History of Drogheda^ says that tho besieging 
army amounted to eighteen thousand before all was over. 

9a 


But screw your courage to the sticking 
And we’ll not fail.” 

The better part of valor is discretion.” 


194 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Sir Phelim had his headquarters in Bewly House, witliin three 
miles or so of the town on the banks of the silvery Boyne. 
Parties of his troops were also in possession of Rathmullen Castle, 
with the villages of Betty stown, Mornington, Oldbridge, Tully al- 
ien, and Ballymakenny.* 

Any one at all acquainted with the geographical situation of 
Drogheda will see at a glance from this enumeration of the 
placed held by the Irish, that they had the town invested on every 
side — seaward they had Bettystovvn and Mornington, landward, 
and commanding the river they had the heights of Rathmullen 
and the plains of ^Oldbridge, while back into the country in 
various directions, the other posts mentioned extended their con- 
trol. But, alas ! with all these advantages— including the pos- 
session of the harbor which they closely blockaded — there was 
one great want on the part of the besiegers, so great, indeed, 
that it left them with all but empty hands in the presence of 
the enemy. This was the old story — the almost total want of 
artillery or ordinance of any kind. Their arms and ammunition, 
too, were very insufScient for such an army — had they been 
even in a degree proportioned to the number of men, the siege 
of Drogheda would stand differentlj’ recorded on the page of 
history. 

And so it happened that while the garrison was reduced to 
the most grievous straits by the unceasing watchfulness of the 
besiegers, while reinforcements and supplies were alike excluded 
by sea and land, and while a brave, and numerous, and vigilant 
force occupied every available position around the town, its 
strong walls were, week after week, unassailed, and its imme- 
diate precincts still uninvaded by hostile foot. 

The governor of the town, a tough old Puritan soldier. Sir 
Henry Tichbourne by name, was a man who held all Papist recu- 
sints in holy horror, and thought them only to be treated with 
s.vord in one hand and Bible in the other, by way of a double 
exorcism. Still he had not the ferocious cruelty of Sir Charles 
Coote — at least the shedding of blood or the sight of human tor- 
ture gave him no pleasure, although if the cause required it, he 

* See D’ Alton’s History of Drogheda, p. 230. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


195 


could kill, and burn, and destroy as well as Coote or any other 
general of the time. He was, however, a brave and skilful officer, 
and his defence of Drogheda, under such adverse circumstances, 
raised him high in the estimation of his own party, as it made 
him feared and respected by the other. 

The straits to which the garrison was reduced at that time, 
almost equal the hardest necessities of Derry or any other siege oi 
modern times. And what most afflicted Sir Henry and his officers 
was tho fact, that the shameful neglect of the government had 
quite as much share in producing their hardships and privations 
as the watchfulness of the besiegers. Letters addressed to Lord 
Ormond and tho government were repeatedly intercepted, com- 
plaining in the bitterest and most moving terms of the wants of 
the garrison. But the wants continued, and the weather increased 
in severity, and the various parties sent out at different times 
under the pressure of necessity to seek provisions were, for the 
most part, either captured or slain by some of the numerous Irish 
detachments encircling the place. At last, famine and despair, 
made more excruciating by the stinging sense of neglect, brought 
about strange things. The soldiers of the garrison were fre- 
quently seen scaling the walls by night, at the imminent risk of 
discovery from within on account of the blazing warlights kept 
up at regular intervals along the walls and ramparts. On reach- 
ing the ground these men made their way directly to some Irish 
post, stating that they fled from salt herrings and bad water to 
which fare the provident and remunerative bounty of the Lords 
Justices had so long consigned them. 

It was amusing to witness the surprise manifested by some of 
these men on finding themselves actually in the presence of Sir 
Phelim O’Neill, the great Irish ogre of their guard-room stories, 
the fierce warrior whom they looked upon and spoke of as half 
man, half demon, hideous in person as diabolical in spirit. The 
boisterous laughter wherewith the rough chieftain heard these 
ludicrous imaginings of their diseased fancy, both startled and 
amazed the semi-puritanical soldiers of Tichbourne ; yet the blunt 
and unexpected good-nature with which their starving stomachs 
were relieved by his orders very soon reconciled them to his 
Papistical want of gravity. 


19G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Many a desperate struggle, without the walls, marked the 
passage of those long, long weeks, during which the Irish army 
kept watch and ward around the old town. Having no encamp- 
ment, the severity of the weather forbade them to remain in the 
immediate vicinity of the town, where shelter was not to be 
found, so that the troops were posted here and there within the 
distance of a few miles, wherever they could be protected from 
the inclemency of that unusually rigorous season. The frequent 
sallies of those from the town, made in different directions, kept 
the besiegers constantly on the alert, from the continual uncer- 
tainty in which they were as to the point where the sortie was to 
be made. 

In the midst of their hard and arduous duties, only a few days 
before St. Thomas’s Day, which was that fixed on for a grand 
attack, the mercurial Celts of the north were elated beyond 
measure by the unlooked-for arrival of IVIiles O’Grady, one of 
the few great harpers remaining in Ireland, who had travelled 
alb the way from the hills of Breffhy to chant the war song for 
the O’Reillys, to the fortunes of whose chief he was for weal or 
woe attached, and had been so from early boyhood. It was at 
Oldbridge that the Clan O’Reilly lay, and thither Miles made his 
way, his small harp slung on one shoulder, and a wallet on 
the other containing his oaten cakes, with a little fiask of us- 
quebaugh. He was accompanied by a youth of some twenty 
summers, a tall and rather delicate stripling, with a mild and 
somewhat pensive aspect, and clustering brown curls, which 
would have given him a girlish look were it not for the dark hue 
of his complexion and the fire which gleamed in his large eyes. 
He was a stranger to all the Irish host, even the harper could 
give no other account of him than that he had found him wan- 
dering on the confines of Louth, inquiring the way to Drogheda. 
His name, he said, was Angus Dhu, at least he would give no 
other, and by that soubriquet he was ever after known amongst 
the soldiers. 

Notwithstanding the attraction of Miles’s music, his young 
travelling companion did not long remain at O’Reilly’s quarters. 
Wandering about from one post to another, he at length reached 
Bewly House, and by some strange whim there took up his abode 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 197 

• 

amongst the martial clansmen of Tyr-Owen. The northern ac- 
cent was on his Irish tongue, and many questions were, therefore, 
put to him regarding the distant land of the O’Neills, but the 
questions soon ceased, for he declared himself wholly unac- 
quainted with that part of the country. Much curiosity was at 
first excited by the singular reserve in which the youth chose to 
enshroud himself ; but after a few days the mystery was forgot- 
ten, and Angus Dhu came and went like any other individual of 
that “ varied host.” 

St. Thomas’s Eve came on dark and dull as the days usually 
are at that season — the few short hours of daylight were spent in 
preparation for a general attack, too much time having been 
already lost in useless delay, according to the opinion of the 
most experienced officers. Silently, and as they fondly hoped, 
unnoticed by those within the town, the Irish leaders prepared 
their respective troops for the assault, too sanguine, most of 
them, in their hopes of success to entertain the possibility of 
failure. But Sir Henry Tichbourne was not the man to be taken 
unawares, as the besiegers found to their cost. When under 
cover of the darkness, they applied their scaling ladders to the 
walls, and mounted with hearts full of hope and courage, noth- 
ing doubting of success, they found bristling bayonets and grim 
faces behind them at every accessible point. Silent as the grave 
was the watch of these stern veterans, the first intimation the assail- 
ants received of their presence being from the point of the bayo- 
net, so that in very many cases those coming next on the ladders 
were only apprised of the reception awaiting them by the death- 
groan of their comrades above and their heavy fall to the ground, 
too often dragging their fellows with them clutched in their dying 
grasp. Courage and skill were alike useless : however it was 
that Tichbourne had disposed of his forces there seemed not a 
single point left unguarded, and, as the Irish officers understood 
when too late, the cressets and other lights usually burning on 
the walls were that night nowhere to be seen. It was a night of 
darkness, silence and death, and the loss sustained by the besiegers 
was so considerable as to stamp its horrors indelibly on their 
minds. But although repulsed with heavy loss, and necessarily 
thrown into confusion by a result so wholly unexpected, the 


198 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

Irish soldiers, for the most part, exhibited such steady courage 
as to excite the surprise of the garrison. Many instances of 
hardy and persevering valor were displayed on that memorable 
occasion, and one of these came near to obtain possession of the 
West Gate from which a sortie had "been made on the assailants, 
a party of the followers of O’Neill. The gate was, in fact, taken 
and retaken several times before the attention of the rest of the 
garrison was called to that particular point, the Irish being led 
on by a youth wtio seemed animated with more than mortal cour- 
age, and on whom defeat had no other effect than that of a spur 
to renewed action. Even in the breathless rush of that fell 
struggle, amid the gloom of the winter night and the silence of 
mutual caution, the neck-or-nothing bravery of that young Irish 
soldier attracted the attention of both parties, and although the 
arrival of a strong reinforcement from the Tholsel gave victory to 
the defenders of the gate, and left the brave assailants on the out- 
side, still his feats of valor were not forgotten, and Sir Phelim 
himself on the following day made special inquiries concerning 
him. But whoever he was notoriety was not his object, for, the 
useless struggle of the night once over, his identity was not to be 
traced. 

Next day Angus Dhu made his appearance in a block-house 
erected by the besiegers'at the mouth of the river where Shamus 
Beg was left in command of a small party. The account which 
Angus gave of the night’s disaster was gloomy enough, and the 
hearts of his hearers sank within them as they listened, but when 
the youth came to tell of the mysterious stranger who had so 
nearly taken West Gate, and of Sir Phelim’s anxiety to find him 
out, dejection and despondency were swallowed up in curiosity 
and that eager thirst for the marvellous so common to all Celtic 
people. . 

“Who knows but it’s one of the old ancient heroes mentioned 
in prophecy that’s coming back to help us in our need,” said 
Shamus thoughtfully. “We all know they’re to come one day 
or another.” 

“ Yes, but when they do,” said Angus quickly, “ they’ll not go 
without their errand — they’ll leave their mark behind them, 
Shamus, or where’s the use of them coming at all. It isn’t to be 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


190 


beats?*! as we were last night that thev’d show their faces — no, 
no, I'm thinking the young man — let him be who he might — ^had 
a little business to settle with the cut-throats — a message to de- 
liver or something that way.’ 

Angus started in some confusion and changed color, for he saw 
Shamus’s eyes fixed on him with a look of keen scrutiny that 
made him wince. Muttering something about looking out for 
squalls he darted to the door, and was soon apparently lost in 
contemplating the wintry flood, — hardly to be recognized as the 
silvery Boyne, — pouring down into the boiling waters of the Bay, 
As for Shamus and the other soldiers of his party they were too 
well accustomed to the lad’s strange humors to feel or express 
any surprise. 

Christmas was more merrily spent amongst the Irish troops 
than might be imagined under the circumstances. What with 
the surpassing music of O’Grady’s harp, the numerous pipes and 
other instruments then called into requisition for other than mar- 
tial purposes, what with the various assemblies of the officers 
held at the different mansions in possession of the army, and the 
solemn celebration of the joyous mystery of the time, the Christ- 
mas holidays passed cheerily away. For well nigh the first time 
in their lives, the proud Normans of the Pale were brought into 
close and constant communication with the native chiefs, and 
the result was, as might be expected, a more cordial feeling be- 
tween them. 

It was on one of these festive occasions when Lord Fingal was 
entertaining in military fashion the other leaders of the army, 
with their respective officers, that Art McMahon was requested 
to speak to a person outside the door who had just arrived from 
Dublin. 

“ From Dublin!” the chief repeated aloud, and his words were 
echoed with a start by many of the lords and gentlemen ; “ from 
Dublin! — who can it be'?— the bearer of some overtures, per- 
chance, from my lord of Ormond.’* 

Expecting some communication of great importance, McMahon 
left the hall, and dead silence prevailed during his absence, each 
gazing in his neighbor’s face to learn the purport of his thoughts. 

Only a few moments had elapsed when the chieftain’s firm 


200 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


tread was heard approaching, and all eyes were instantly fixed 
on the door. His portly form was no sooner seen at the entrance 
than the anxious cloud disappeared from every brow, for he was 
laughing heartily. Advaiieing up the spacious hall to his place 
at the table, he said to Lord Gurmanstown who occupied tho 
presidential seat : 

“Your lordship has doubtless heard of the mountain in labor 
— a new version of that old story is what I have to tell. To save 
you all the trouble of asking questions, you must know that tho 
new arrival is no other than an old follower of our house, Mala- 
chy McMahon by name, who has been to Dublin in search of tho 
reading for certain dreams of his.” 

“ Is it Malachy na soggarth T’ inquired O’Reilly ; “ I heard he 
was gone to see your brother — poor simple man ! how did he 
fare 1” 

“ As might be expected, Phil — he saw the outside of the 
Castle walls — no more. But even that was a comfort to the poor 
fellow ” 

“If it was, I paid dear for it,” said Malachy from the lower 
end of the hall, he having followed his chieftain so far. The 
general attention once attracted to him, his singular appearance 
and abrupt speech called a smile to every fhce. 

“ How is that, Malachy I” inquired McMahon. “ What went 
wrong with you V' 

“Not much with me, only what I heard. I fell in with a friar 
— a Franciscan I think he was — and he told me all about what 
the hell-hounds done to our noble Tanistand Lord Maguire ” 

“ And what was that V' cried his chief with a start. “ What 
has befallen Costelloe T* 

Malachy groaned and covered his face with his hands while 
his chief, approaching him with rapid step, urged him to speak. 
“ Tell me, in God’s name, have they killed my brother T’ 

“ If they didn’t kill him all out,” said poor Malachy, “ it was 
almost the same thing — they put him on the rack, and kept him 
there till the life was most gone — they wanted to make him con- 
fess, the friar told me, about that commission Sir Phelim has from 
the king.” -> 

“ It is false!” cried Lord Netterville, starting from the table ; 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


201 


“ there be no such comrtiission — but what did Mr. McMahon con- 
fess — or did he confess anything 

“ He had nothing to confess,” said Art proudly, as he turned 
his ghastly face towards the company ; “ the rack could force 
nothing from poor Costelloe !’ 

“ Not a word,” hastily put in Malachy, anxious for the honor , 
of the house of Uriel ; “ not a word they could get from either of I 
the two — Lord’s blessing be about them !” 

“ Lords and gentlemen — friends all !” said Art McMahon, in 
a choking voice, “ how long is this to last? — ^how long are these 
miscreants to exult in our sufferings ? — oh ! my brother ! — my 
brave brother ! why was I not near with half a hundred of our 
faithful clan — when they dared to stretch your free-born limbs 
on their accursed rack ! — oh, God ! why was I not there ?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he rushed from the hall, fol- 
lowed closely by Malachy, anxious, doubtless, to inform his fol- 
lowers of what had haj)pened. 

Even the coldest of those who remained behind was roused to 
resentment by this new outrage, and a solemn vow was taken on 
the spot alike by Irish chief and Norman noble to wipe out the 
long score which they owed to the government if God spared 
them life. 

The army from that night forward became restless and impa- 
tient. Anxious to do something, yet condemned to a state of 
inactivity almost in the presence of the hated foe, the hearts of 
young and old panted for an opportunity to grapple with the 
veteran soldiers of the garrison, who, by this time, they deemed 
well worn by continual famine. 

Early in the month of January, one cold, frosty morning, the 
wildest excitement suddenly spread amongst besiegers and be- 
sieged. Sundry attempts had been made at various times lately 
to relieve the garrison, all proving ineffectual because of the un- 
ceasing watchfulness of the beleaguering forces. That morning, 
however, a sloop and a pinnace laden with provisions had boldly ‘ 
sailed up the bay, and, favored by a landward breeze, crossed the 
sand-bar at the mouth of the harbor, managed to get over the 
chain, which, for further security, had been laid across, and in 
safety reached the wharf at James’s Bridge amid the cheers and 


202 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


plaudits of a multitude, consisting of thousands of the half- 
starved garrison and townspeople, who had been watching with 
greedy eyes, ever since they hove in sight, the precious little 
craft, which, at such fearful risk, brought life and hope to them. 

The shouts of exultation from within the town brought in- 
creased dejection to those without, and so much time being al- 
ready lost, some of the leaders began to talk seriously of raising 
the siege, and turning their attention to some other place where 
success was more probable. Towards evening, however, their 
prevailing despondency seemed to vanish, and a more cheerful 
spirit took possession of all. There was bustle and buoyant 
excitement where late there had been dullness and dejection, and 
the change was, under the ckcumstances, altogether inexplicable. 
Divers mysterious meetings and hurried councils took place 
during the latter part of the day, but as night came on all was 
again quiet, and silence seemed to have settled down on the Irish 
host. 

In the mid-watches of the night, about five hundred chosen 
men, chiefly from McMahon’s and O’NeiH’s countries, marched 
out in the direction of St. James’s Gate, and having reached an 
old door, sheltered from general observation by a projecting angle 
of the wall, the oificer in command — it was Eman Oge McMahon 
— struck three times on the wood with the point of his sword. 
The door was instantly opened, and, silent as spectres, the clans- 
men marched through in single file, finding themselves, as well 
as the faint star-light would permit them to judge, treading the 
alley of an old orchard. 

“ Now,” whispered the person who admitted them, “ now or 
never — you have the game in your own hands, and there be many 
within the town who will bless God if you succeed — forward in 
His name !” 

“ Whither 7’” asked Eman, in the same tone ; “ Ave are but 
strangers, as you know !” 

“ To the Mill-mount, an’ you take a friend’s advice — cross tho 
bridge, and make straight up the hill — the garrison there is 
small, and you will have no trouble in surprising them — if you do, 
you will find several pieces of ordinance which will ensure your 
success — either that, or master the guard at the gate close by 
here, and then let in as many as you will !” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


203 


Alas ! by some fatal misapprehension, the party did neither. 
Making straight for the heart of the city, and, forgetting in the 
wild excitement of the moment, the extreme necessity of pru- 
dence and caution — confident, moreover, of having victory in 
their own hands, a thrilling shout burst from their ranks, meant 
at once to apprise their comrades without of their being fairly 
inside the walls, and, at the same time, to strike terror into the 
slumbering and apparently unconscious garrison. 

“ Great God !” cried Eman, “ what have ye done 1 — "we are lost 
—lost !” 

It was too late to redeem the fatal error. The sound of horses’ 
hoofs was heard approaching with headlong haste down Shop 
street towards the bridge. At the same moment the drums beat 
to anus, and the Irish, not knowing how many or how few were 
the assailants gathering around them in the darkness, made an 
effort to regain the orchard, and thence the door by which they- 
had entered. About two hundred of them succeeded, but, alas ! 
tlie enemy had already mustered in strength, and the stern voice 
of Tichbourne was heard commanding no quarter to be given. 

“Hew them down,” he said; “in God’s name, let not one ' 
escape !” 

Even while this pitiless order was given, doors were softly 
opened in the rear of the bewildered Irish, and many of them 
were drawn in by friendly hands unseen, undreamed of by the 
Puritan soldiers or their relentless commander. Others finding 
their retreat cut off*, turned on the foe with their pikes and made 
what defence they could. These were almost to a man cut down 
by the swords and sabres of Tichboume’s troop, so that fully one- 
half of those who marched so proudly through the orchard some 
half an hour before, paid with their life the forfeit of their impru- 
dence. 

Amongst those who fell was the gallant young leader of the 
party, who, refusing to quit the place and leave any of his men 
exposed to danger, was cut down, sword in hand, by one of Tich- 
*• bourne’s officers. 

Thus ended, in shame and humiliation, disappointment and 
death, an attempt which might and should have placed Drogheda 
in the hands of the Irish. 


204 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“ What tho’ the field be lost 7 
All is not lost ; the ungovernable will, 

« « « « 

And courage never to submit or yield, 

And what is else not to be overcome.” 

Milton’s Paradise Lost, 

“ A tale more strange nd’er graced the poet’s art. 

And ne’er did fiction play so wild a part.” 

Tickell. 

With varying success the Irish army remained in the neigh- 
borhood of Drogheda all through the months of January and 
February — at times there seemed every probability of the gar- 
rison being reduced by famine to surrender, for the supplies so 
wonderfully introduced into the town in the beginning of Janu- 
ary lasted but a very few weeks. Famine and sickness soon 
began to produce the saddest effects amongst the hardy soldiers 
of the garrison, and strong hopes w^ere entertained by the leaders 
of the besieging force that the town could not much longer hold 
out, when towards the end of February a fearful storm came on, 
which carried away the boom from the mouth of the river, to- 
gether with various defences erected there for the greater secu- 
rity of the harbor. Before any of this mischief could be re- 
paired, certain of the government cruisers, ever hanging around 
the coasts in wait for an opportunity of approaching the town, 
succeeded in making their way to the wharf, and plentifully sup- 
plied the wants of the garrison. 

Thus strengthened, and invigorated with renewed hope, thebe- 
sieged not only defended the town more vigorously, but issuing ' 
forth, in considerable detachments, and at short intervals, they 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


205 


attacked the various stations occupied by the Irish, sometimes 
with success, but just as often to be driven back again to the 
shelter of their strong walls. Many a hard struggle took place 
between the contending parties for the possession of fords and 
passes on the river. On one occasion, in which the Irish were 
defeated, so obstinate was the contest that the Nanny-water at 
Julianstown ran red with the blood of the slain. On nearly the 
same spot where they gained a complete and bloodless victory, 
they were themselves, so soon after, vanquished with fearful loss. 
One by one several of their strongest posts were taken, owing to 
their fatal want of ordinance, and to crown all it was announced 
that the Earl of Ormond was at length marching to the relief of 
Drogheda with a strong force and with orders to burn, pillage, 
and destroy the houses and possessions of all who had declared 
for the rebels or in any way assisted them. 

Hearing this, Sir Phelim O’Neill thought it high time to betake 
himself again to the woods and fastnesses of Ulster, until such 
time as Providence might send him a supply of arms and ammu- 
nition, with such artillery as might enable him to encounter a 
regular army in the field. Reluctantly he came to this decision, 
which his allies of the Pale, moreover, endeavored to combat 
with a view to the protection of their own goods and chattels, 
but Sir Phelim took it into his head that the preservation of his 
entire force depended on effecting a speedy retreat, and retreat 
into Ulster he would and did, to the great joy and exultation of 
the garrison, which for three months and better he had kept so 
closely straightened, with scarcely a piece of cannon in his pos- 
session, and other war-stores in such limited quantity as to be 
wholly insufficient for such an undertaking. 

With the exception of the miserable failure of that fatal night 
— and Sir Phelim never forgave himself for not having entrusted 
the enterprise to older and more experienced commanders — - 
everything was done that either courage or prudence could dic- 
tate, and if the siege of Drogheda was at length abortive, the 
fault lay in the grievous wants already mentioned, wants which 
should, from the first, have prevented an undertaking of such 
magnitude and so great importance. 

Philip O’Reilly had just returned for a brief season of rest to 


20G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


his paternal halls, and the clansmen of Breffny were resting in 
peace after the fatigues of the luckless Louth campaign, await- 
ing another summons from the north, when the chief was ap- 
prised of the death of old Dr. Beddell. Application had been 
made. to Bishop McS weeny for permission to bury him within 
tlie precincts of his former cathedral, and after some hesitation 
that prelate gave his consent. 

On the day of the deceased bishop’s interment, a sight was 
seen which filled his friends and co-religionists with surprise. A 
lonely funeral they expected to have of it, for the few Protest- 
ants who still remained in the neighborhood feared to make any 
demonstration, or in fact to be seen abroad at all. Great^ then, 
was their astonishment when, on the morning fixed for the fune- 
ral, a hundred or so of the patriot-soldiers of Brefihy marched 
to the late prelate’s house with soft and mournful music, and 
announced their intention of accompanying his remains to the 
grave. 

At first the bishop’s family and household were more alarmed 
than pleased by the appearance of this martial band, but when 
the officer in command — it was the former high sheriff. Miles 
Mac Edmund O’Reilly — entering the house, assured them that 
his men were only desirous of doing honor to the memory of the 
lamented dead, they were all deeply touched by so public an 
expression of kindly sympathy. 

The Bishop, too, joined the funeral cortege, with many of the 
chief men of the O’Reillys, and although the day was a stormy 
one in the early spring, they followed the honored remains even 
to the old diocesan graveyard of Kilmore where the vault of his 
predecessors awaited him. And the solemn music of the Breffny 
minstrels was the dirge of the good old prelate, and the clansmen 
of Breffny paced with downcast eyes and arms reversed, after 
the mourning friends and relatives, and when the body was laid 
in the tomb, they insisted on firing a volley over it by way of a 
parting salute, for they remembered that the good man there 
consigned to earth had shown himself their friend when few of 
his order or profession would have said a word or testified a 
feeling in their behalf. 

When, however, the vault was closed, and the echoing roll of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


207 


the musketry had died away amongst the neighboring hills, 
Miles O’Reilly stepped forward, and, filled with thoughts of what 
had been and what was to be, he exclaimed in Latin : 

“ May the last of the English rest in peace !” 

The musicians, catching his thought, struck up “ O’Neill’s 
IMarch,” one of the most popular tunes of the day, and to its 
enlivening notes they marched out of the graveyard and resumed 
their homeward way, satisfied that they had shown all proper 
respect to the memory of a generous foo, yet elated with the 
thought that no other should ever fill his office amongst them or 
usurp the rights of their lawful prelates. 

“ Ho was a good man,” said they one to another, “ for a Pro- 
testant, but there’s few of them like him, and, only God to spare 
us our eyesight, we never want to lay eyes on a minister or a 
bishop of his sort ” 

“ It will not be our fault if ever one of them roosts in Kilmore, 
anyhow,” rejoined another; “please the Lord their light is 
quenched for good, — and it’s it was the unlucky light to us ever 
since it was first lit at the fire below ! — glory and honor to Sir 
Phelim, only give him fair play, — him and the O’Reilly and the 
rest of them, — and they’ll get us back our rights, or they’ll know 
for what !” - 

The spirit thus expressed by the clansmen of Brefihy, with the 
entire, perhaps exaggerated confidence they had in their heredi- 
tary leaders, w^as common amongst the lower classes of the sol- 
diery, but in the minds of the chieftains and officers themselves, 
the conviction was every hour gaining ground that their real 
commander had not yet made his appearance on the scene of 
action. But to go back a little . 

When Sir Phelim was about making his retreat from Drogheda, 
Shamus went to him one evening with a face of blank dismay, 
and told him that the youth Angus was missing since the pre- 
vious day, and was neither to be found dead nor alive. Now, 
independent of all personal considerations, the lad’s services had 
been of such a nature since his sudden appearance amongst the 
men, that even the rough nature of Sir Phelim was touched by 
this intelligence, and he gave Shamus orders to take ten or a 
dozen men and make a strict search everywhere around the 


208 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


neighborhood. However anxious they all were, for Angus was 
a general favorite, they might have searched long enough to 
little purpose, had not some prisoners been taken that day from a 
foraging party, and from them it was casually ascertained that 
a young man answering to the description of Angus had been 
caught prowling around that same old orchard which had proved 
so fatal to poor Eman and his party. He had managed to get 
in on the occasion of a sortie from St. James’s Gate, but refused 
to confess what his intentions were. 

Sir Phelim and others of the chieftains immediately surmised 
that the poor fellow had taken this bold and venturous step, 
hoping that by concealing himself till the fall of night, he might 
succeed in opening some gate or door unobserved, and thus to 
introduce a party of his friends, who, warned by former sad ex- 
perience, might be able to surprise the garrison. Indeed, it was 
found that he had intimated some such design to bis friend 
Shamus several days before, asking whether he thought it at 
all practicable, but Shamus having, as he thought, laughed him 
out of such a boyish notion, the affair was no more alluded to 
between them, and Shamus forgot all about it until the myste - 
rious disappearance of Angus brought it again to his mind. Ho 
now bitterly reproached himself for not having acquainted some 
of his superiors at the time, with the romantic scheme which 
now, in all probability, had brought destruction on- the brave 
youth. 

Sir Phelim, after some deliberation, sent a herald with a flag 
of truce to Sir Henry Tichbourne, proposing an exchange of pri- 
soners; this, at first, was refused, and O’Neill, in his wrath, 
swore that those in his possession, amounting to half a dozen or 
so — some of them subaltern officers — should be hung before sun- 
set in sight of the town-walls. 

The fatal preparations were already made, and the temporary 
gallows loomed up tall and spectral above surrounding objects 
— the sound of funeral music, and the measured discharge of 
musketry denoted the approach of the final moment, when the 
West Gate of the towp rolled slowly back, and out came a small 
party of horse, the first man bearing aloft a white flag. On and 
on they came towards the place prepared for the execution, and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


209 


as they drew near, the flag-hearer, detaching himself from the 
others, rode forward and announced that Sir Henry Tichbourne, 
having thought better of the matter, was willing to agree to Sir 
" Phelim O’Neill’s proposal in regard to the prisoners, and had 
sent his for exchange. 

“ Well for him he did,” said the chieftain curtly ; “ you see our 
patience has no great stretch,” and he grimly pointed to the 
gaunt, unsightly gallows. “Here you, O’Rourkes, bring out 
the Englishers — ^ha, Angus, my good lad ! I am well content to 
see you again !” 

The Irish prisoners were now handed over, but still there 
seemed some delay in regard to giving up the others. Sir Phe- 
lim blustered and swore, and threatened punishment — the prison- 
ers were delivered up, with one exception — a young officer of 
dark, forbidding aspect, and a cynical expression of countenance. 
Him the Leitrim men held fast, looking at the same time as 
though no stretch of authority should induce them to give 
him up. Sir Phelim’s ire began to rise, and some of the Nor- 
man lords who were present looked eagerly for the solution of 
so strange a proceeding. One or two of the Irish officers who 
chanced to be near whispered to each other a solution of the 
enigma. 

“ What the fiend is this 1” cried Sir Phelim, angrily ; “let the 
gentleman go, with the rest, ye stupid varlets !” 

“ If it’s pleasing to you, Sir Phelim, we’d rather not,” said 
Manus O’Rourke, stepping forward ; “ this prisoner is ours — it 
was we of Breffny-O’Rourke who took him, and we desire to 
await our chiefs judgment in his regard ” 

“ Who is he, then V* 

“ The son and heir of Sir Frederick Hamilton, against whom 
every O’Rourke in Breffny has sworn revenge.” 

“ Ha ! Hamilton — I know !” The chieftain turned his scathing 
eye on the young ensign, who, on his part, looked as though he 
thought his situation soinevvliat perilous. Still he returned the 
glance with one of defiance rather than deprecation. 

“ By the soul of Heremon,” said O’Neill slowly, “ but it grieveth 
me to thwart you in this thing, Manus O’Rourke, for that brood 
of vipers were well cleared out of yonr fair country, but nalne 


21 (> TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

honor — our honor, Manus, will not permit to keep the strip- 

ling now.” 

“ How is that, Sir Plielini “I” demanded O’Rourke sternly. 

“ Why, because it was from us the offer of exchange came, 
and we then made no exception. Had I known in time of this 
Hamilton being in your hands, by my faith he had gone to 
Hrumahair for your chieftain’s good pleasure — now when they 
have sent all our prisoners, at our request, we cannot for shame 
keep any of theirs in custody. No, no, Manus, it cannot he — 
you will have some other opportunity — -justice can wait — soldiers 
of Breffny, I appeal to your honor in this matter, hoping that 
you will let this prisoner go with the others !” 

“ It is hard, it is very hard, Sir Phelim O’Neill,” said the un- 
compromising Manus, “still I acknowledge your honor is at 
stake, and I am sure there is not an O’Rourke here who will hold 
out against you !” 

A sullen murmur was heard amongst the men of west Breffny, 
but still none of them gainsaid the words of Manus. Dark 
was the scowl, however, with which they regarded the son of 
their enemy as with a smile, half of contempt, half of triumph, 
he walked over to the party from town. 

“ Ye have done well, men of Breffny,” said Sir Phelim, in a 
husky voice, “ and by the sword of Nial it shall go hard with 
me, an’ we bring not that savage Hamilton to justice ere the war 
comes to an end. If I aid ye not in this matter, be my name 
forgotten in the land where my fathers ruled ! * 

A loud cheer from the O’Rourkes attested their sense of Sir 
Phelim’s kind dispositions in their regard, and as the other clans 
present caught up the sound it rolled far away into the distance, 
along the level borders of the Boyne. 

While O’Neill turned to speak with Angus, who stood, cap in 
hand, awaiting speech of him, the Norman lords discoursed 
amongst themselves of the scene they had just witnessed, 
and more than one expressed his surprise at the unexpected 
gentleness displayed by the northern loader. The main features 
of the scene they were at a loss to understand, till, having ap- 
plied to Manus O’Rourke, who was a lieutenant in their army, 
for explanation, he gave them, with no softened coloring, an ac- 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


211 


count of the relative conduct of Sir Frederick Hamilton and the 
O’Rourke of Breflfny. Hearing this, the lords of the Pale could 
not help expressing their admiration of the generous forbearance 
shown by the Clan O’Rourke on this occasion, when revenge was 
a second time in their own hands, and even justice might seem 
to authorize their detention of their prisoner. 

But another surprise awaited these noblemen, in common with 
the chieftains, their allies. Angus Oge had a singular story to 
tell, though his captivity had been but of three days’ duration, 
and as the night was closing in, with storm and darkness. Sir 
Phelim invited all the officers present to go to his quarters to 
hear what the youth had to say. Although Shamus had hitherto 
kept in the background, he was not out of hearing, and, slily 
availing himself of his privileged position in regard to his chief- 
tain, he glided int,o the hall at Bewly amongst the crowd of lords 
and gentlemen, and managed to hear every word of the story, 
albeit that the narrator, overcome with the timidity natural in 
such a presence, told his simple tale in low hesitating accents, 
and with eyes that sought the ground. 

“ I think I was as near death since I left here,” said Angus, 
“ as one could be and escape it. There’s no more feeling in them 
black-hearted soldiers of Tichbourne’s than there is in a u hin-stone, 
and their general is worse than any of them, Christ save u.> ! for 
all you’d think to hear him talk he was a saint at the very least 
— if he was cutting your throat, or blowing your brains out, he’d be 
discoursing to you of the goodness of God, and the ways of right- 
eousness, so that you’d think there was honey on his lips. When I 
was taken before him in a condemned looking place they called Llie 
Tholsel, he preached a sermon to me that Father O’Hanlon him- 
self could hardly beat, but the last words spoiled all, for he told 
me that I was to die that very day as a spy. ‘ And now,’ said he, 
knitting his l^ck brows together, ‘ now go to the Lord Christ, 
and beg of^Ium ta free your mind from the thick clouds of 
Popish (lai*knQSS. He will illumine you, and if you do but ask 
' Hkn, His light will conduct you through the dark valley.’ ‘ Why, 
then,’ says I to myself, ‘ I wish you’d tell me something I didn’t 
know before.’ Well 1 there I was Sir Phelim, sorrowful enough 
you may be sure — especially in regard to having missed my 


212 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


mark — and thinking that I must die like a dog without benefit 
of clergy, and me shut up there in a dark hole without as 
much as a glimpse of light. If it wasn’t for a pair of beads I 
had, and that I made good use of them, I don’t know what on 
earth I would have done, for I was falling into a kind of despair 
with the fear and the dread that was on me — sure enough it 
must have been the Blessed Mother of God that brought me 
through, for myself tliinks it was a miracle and nothing less.” 

“ Well ! well !” said Sir Phelim with manifest impatience, “ how 
w\as it, boy I let us hear !” 

“ I will. Sir Phelim, I’m just coming to it. The jailor was 
just after telling me, for my comfort, that all the other Irish 
prisoners were to be exchanged only me, and that I was to be 
shot before sunset, when in comes another, and says he, ‘ no such 
thing, — the fellow has better luck than honester folk ! — his life 
is saved for this time ’ 

“ ‘Why, how is thatP says the jailor, and, though myself 
didn’t dare to open my lips, you may be sure I was on thorns to 
hear more. ‘ Well,’ says the turnkey to the jailor, ‘ if you were 
guessing for ever you’d never light on it. What do you 

think of Lady coming herself to Sir Henry to ask pardon 

for the varlet 1 — he said the name in a whisper almost, so that I 
couldn’t hear it, and sorry enough I was for that same, for the jailor 
himself cried out : ‘ Can it be possible 1 — well ! after that. I’ll 
wonder at nothing — but I suppose Sir Henry couldn’t refuse her.’ 
‘ So he said,’ says the turnkey back again, ‘ for she asked it as a 
favor that she’d never forget, and Sir Henry said as it was the first 
she ever asked of him, he couldn’t refuse though he didn’t deny 
but what it was sore against his will to spare the fellow’s life. I 
heard a whisper amongst some of the soldiers,’ says he in a low 
voice, ‘ that Sir Henry wouldn’t give in so readily, only for a 
notion he has in regard to her ladyship’s daughter — a born 
beauty, they say she is, and old as the general is, it seems he’s 
looking out for a wife still.’ At this the two laughed, and the 
jailor says winking at the other, ‘ I see — I see— that’s all plain 
enough, but what the d — ^1 put it in the old lady’s head to pe- 
tition for a scurvy Irish traitor.’ ” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


213 


“ That was just what myself wanted to know,” said Angus, “ so 
I got as near as I could and cocked my ear to listen, but I 
wasn’t anything the wiser, for the other only shook his head and 
saidfit was a mystery to Mm.” 

Various names were suggested by the Norman lords and gen- 
tlemen, but their gbessing threw no light on the subject, and 
Sir Phelim exclaimed in a snappish way : 

“ We be just as much in the dark now as we were before— is 
that all you can tell us regarding this dame of quality T* 

“Not so. Sir Phelim,” returned Angus with a smile, and he 
glanced sideways at his friend Shamus ; “ before I left Drogheda I 
had a visit from that same lady, a lady of noble presence she is, 
too, and with her was the fairest maiden these eyes ever beheld.” 
The arch youth paused and looked around, enjoying, as it were, 
the surprise now depicted on every face, turning from one to the 
other as their various ejaculations reached his ear. 

“ Ay, marry,” said he, “ the lady came to see me, and she told 
me she felt herself much beholden to certain of the Irish chief- 
tains, and she gave me a message for one in particular.” 

“ And who might that be 1” demanded O’Neill. 

“ The O’Rourke of Breifny !” 

“ The O’Rourke !” cried Manus, stepping eagerly forward. 
“ Did she say O’Rourke V’ 

“ She did, and as your lord is absent, I may give it to you, for 
the lady said I might, in such case, deliver her words to any of 
his kinsmen. She commends herself to Owen O’Rourke, and 
sends him word by me, with kind and courteous greeting, that 
for his sake, and in virtue of his request, she saved my life, beg- 
ging that noble gentleman to believe that she holds his debt as 
still standing, and will, with God’s help, do much more in pay- 
ment thereof if so be that these troubles last much longer !” 

“ I know now who it is,” said Manus O’Rourke, — “it is ” 

“ Nay, speak not her name,” said Angus quickly, “ she charged 
me to keep it secret, from all who knew it not already.” 

“ Humph !” cried Sir Phelim, “ O’Rourke’s smooth face and 
winning ways have made an impression on some soft-hearted 
dowager of the Pale— what think ye, my lords I” 


214 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Nay, I pray you, SirPhelira, do not the noble lady injustice,” 
said Manus eagerly ; “ the bottom of this affair is well known to 
me, and she were as inhuman as her husband — from whose hands 
God save us all — did she not feel grateful to Owen O’Rourke !” 

“ Well ! well ! have it your own way,” said Sir Phelim ; “ your 
secret must be respected for the present, we have other matters 
to think of than ladies’ whims !” 



■VJ, • 




THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


215 


CHAPTER XVHx. 

“ Those high-built hopes that crush us by their fall 

Campbell. 

“ The wise and active conquer difficulties, 

By daring to attempt them ; sloth and folly 
Shiver and sink at sights of toil and hazard, 

And make th’ impossibility they fear.” 

Rowe. 

Tuns the hopes of taking Drogheda were for that time aban- 
doned by the allied chieftains, much against the will of the Nor- 
man lords who were extremely disconcerted by this unlooked-for 
disappointment so soon after their coalition. The high expecta- 
tions with which they had joined the army before Drogheda may 
be gathered from a letter which they addressed, even so late as 
the end of February, to Lord Clanrickarde. This letter was 
dated from “ the Catholic camp near Drogheda,” and explicitly 
informed the politic and tiihe-serving Marquis that the nobles of 
the Pale had made common cause with the native Irish. 

“ And we now give your lordship to understand that by God’s 
assistance the work is, by the help of- our neighbors of Ulster, 
and by our own endeavors, in a fair way, we having already in 
the field, about Dublin and Drogheda, about 12,000 able men, 
and more expected daily, for the most part well armed ; and be- 
sides we can assure ourselves of the good will and endeavors of 
the rest of our Catholic countrymen throughout the kingdom.”* 

It was painful, then, for these high-spirited noblemen, at 
length thoroughly interested in the great national movement, to 
be obliged to retreat before the first advance of Ormond. Still, 


Seo D’ Alton’s History of Drogheda^ Vol. IL, p. 243. 


21G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


as they said, they felt strong in the confidence that their cause 
enlisted the sympathies of all the Catholics of the kingdom (with 
the exception, they might have added, of those under the fatal 
control of Lord Clanrickarde and such as he) and that, in retiring 
from the plains of Louth, they did hut Lend for a season to the 
passing storm. In common with all the native Irish they looked 
eagerly forward to foreign succor, and still more confidently than 
even their allies, they believed in the secret sympathy of the king. 
This last was a dream of their own sanguine imaginations, based, 
at least then, on no solid foundation, yet to it they clung as the 
principal anchor of their hopes and prospects. 

But although King Charles had no real sympathy with the 
heroic struggles of his Irish subjects, there was a power now 
coming slowly and majestically into the field which was worth 
a thousand times more to them than any influence the faithless 
monarch could have exercised. 

The persecuted Church of Ireland, subdued and spiritless to 
all appearance, and timorous in public action, had as yet made 
no demonstration in favor of her gallant defenders. Now this 
apparent timidity, or indifierence, or whatever it might be called, 
had passed away, and a synod of the Bishops was held at Kells, 
very soon after the retreat from Drogheda, presided over in per- 
son by the patriotic primate, Hugh O’Neill. - Then and there the 
undertaking of the confederates was first pronounced “just and 
lawful,” and a blessing solemnly invoked on their arms. 

The spirit which animated that august assembly in the ancient 
city of Columba, went forth within a few weeks to every corner 
and extremity of the kingdom, infusing new life and the fresh- 
ness of hope into hearts that were beginning to grow cold and 
despondent. 

Messengers, some of them priests, were sent abroad to the 
diflerent Cathohc countries, and Father Luke Wadding was ho- 
nored with a special embassy. The Pope and his Catholic Ma- 
jesty of Spain, and Cardinal Kichelieu, then the ruling spirit in 
France, were each notified of the position of the patriot Catholics 
of Ireland. 

The government, on the other hand, were at length aroused 
to action. Lord Ormond was sent northward, as we have seen, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


217 


with orders to burn and ravage all before him. Had the Earl 
been allowed his own way he would have followed Sir Phelim’s 
army into Ulster, believing that, from their almost total want of 
supplies, they would necessarily afford an ea^ victory to an 
army such as that which was now at his command. The Lords 
Justices, however, would not hear of his venturing beyond the 
Boyne, being still governed by their selfish fears of leaving the 
metropolis without sufficient protection. And yet to all men it 
appeared that they might safely have permitted Ormond to carry 
out his politic design, seeing that they had made Sir Charles 
Coote governor of Dublin, with a large and efficient force at 
his disposal, and that, under his able superintendence, the 
defences of the city had been strengthened in every possible 
way. 

When summoned back from Wicklow to take command of the 
garrison of Dublin, Coote had encountered the warlike clan of 
the O’Tooles, assembled to bar his progress with such arms as 
they could collect. To almost any other general, it would have 
been a formidable sight to see these bold mountaineers ranged in 
order of battle full on his path amid the wild fastnesses of their 
native rocks. But to the ruthless and impetuous Coote nothing 
presented any serious obstacle — fear and pity were alike strangers 
to his bosom, and unfortunately his men were chosen from thousands 
for qualities somewhat similar to his own, so that fearing neither 
man nor devil, fire nor sword, they were never known to retreat 
before any force, no matter how superior in numbers, and their 
headlong charge was irresistible when their fiery old captain, 
sword in hand, led them to the attack. 

The Wicklow mountaineers, on that memorable occasion, 

“ fought like brave men long and well,” 

and many a hardy veteran bit the dust beneath the weight of 
their vengeful arms, but weapons and skill were against them, and 
that courage which springs from desperation, for, in addition to 
their usual ferocious valor, Coote’s men were then inspired 
by the sense of imminent peril. After a hard and bloody con- 
test, then, they at last were forced to give way, or rather to 0})en 
a passage for the red-coats, for no account of this affair savs that 
10a 


218 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


they retreated, but only that Coote and his bravos “ cut their 
■way through them.” Nevertheless, Sir Charles made his way 
back to Dublin, and was there duly installed in the military gov- 
ernment of the capital, to the terror and dismay of the Catholic 
inhabitants. 

With their precious persons, then, under the guardian care of 
Coote, and the metropolis fortified on every side like a castle. 
Parsons and Borlase might have dispensed with the immediate 
presence of Ormond, but the terrific accounts of Sir Phelim 
O’Neill’s doings met them ^t every turn, and filled their cowardly 
souls with the meanest and most servile fears. Well knowing 
what they deserved at the hands of Catholics, they could not 
but regard their armed bands as fierce avengers, ready to deal 
destruction on those who had driven them to rebellion. 

The news of the coalition between the Catholics of the Pale arid 
the native Irish, was, to outward appearance, a most unwelcome 
surprise to the Lords Justices, but in their hearts nothing could 
liave given them greater satisfaction. Their first step was a 
key to their feelings in this matter. No sooner did they hear of 
the rising of the Pale than they wrote to the English Parliament, 
and got an act passed confiscating two millions and a half of the 
estates of the Confederate Catholics, and this wa,s shamelessly 
held out as a certain means of remuneration for those who joined 
in putting down the rebellion. No stronger inducement could 
be offered than the fat lands of the Pale Counties, and hordes of 
greedy adventurers immediately flocked around the standard of 
the Justices — profuse in their professions of loyalty, but at heart 
caring little for any cause, except that which afforded a chance 
of amending their shattered fortunes. 

Various rumors were at this time afloat with regard to the 
Catholic lords and gentlemen of Munster, where a second Coote, 
Sir William St. Leger by name, was goading the people on to 
rebellion by the cruellest pecuniary exactions and the fiercest 
religious persecution. Like the Normans of the Pale, however, 
with whom very many of them were closely connected, the Ca- 
tholic gentry and nobility of the southern province were loath to 
relinquish their hopes of government favor. With the people the 
case was widely different — bound by no ties to any particular party, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


219 


buoyed up with no delusive hopes, and in the actual endurance of 
all manner of oppression, they were only anxious to be led against 
their tyrants. But their natural leaders, the Catholic aristocracy 
of the land, having little real sympathy with them, feared nothing 
so much as an outbreak which might possibly compromise them 
with the Lords Justices. The threatening attitude of the people 
and the unmistakeable signs of revolt everywhere becoming visi- 
ble, excited the selfish fears of the Anglo-Irish magnates of the 
province. At the head of these stood Lord Muskerry, the lineal 
representative of the great McCarthys'ol Desmond, but unhap- 
pily, also, the brother-in-law of the Earl of Ormond. 

Even as Gormanstown and Fingal had been, was still McCarthy 
of Muskerry — a very loyal nobleman, indeed, anxious to keep 
the peace at any cost, and willing to do anything and everything 
rather than have his fair domains go in as a share of the forfeited 
two and-a-hdlf millions. 

So, very early in the month of December, just about the time 
when the lords of the Pale were forming their patriotic alliance 
with the Irish chieftains, away posted Donough McCarthy, with 
quite a large number of the first Catholics of Munster, to tell St. 
Leger how fearful they were of the rebellious dispositions of the 
people. There was no doubt, they said, that the hard usage to 
which they were subjected would eventually drive them to take 
up arms, if some immediate steps were not taken to keep them 
in order. 

And what the furies can I dol” cried St. Leger roughly, 
“ other than I do T’ 

“ It is true that you are doing your utmost,*’ said Muskerry, 
“ but not so with others — and that is just the object of our 
present visit. For my part, I am willing to raise a thousand 
men and maintain them at my own expense, if so be that the 
government will give them arms. Others of my friends here 
present are willing to do in like manner, according to their 
several ability, on similar conditions.” 

“ What fools you take us to be, you hypocritical Papists !” was 
Sir William’s answer ; “ do you think we would put arms in the 
hands of our deadly enemies 1” 

“Enemies!” repeated Muskerry, in a tone of surprise, only 


220 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


slightly mingled with resentment; “enemies, did you say*? — 
surely you meant not the word, Sir William, and we gwing the 
best proofs of our loyalty that men can give I” 

“ Go to the Netherlands !” cried St. Leger, with brutal 

vehemence, “ you’re all rebels at heart — ay, every cursed traitor 
of your crew — go to ! I’ll none of your savage henchmen — send 
them to him of the Red Hand !” And so saying, he walked into 
an adjoining cabinet, slamming the door behind him, as though 
to signify his utter dislike and contempt of his cringing visitors. 

“ By the holy faith of my fathers which these heretics perse- 
cute!” exclaimed one of the noblemen present^ with startling 
energy, “ I will do even as he says — never again shall my ser- 
vices stink in the nostrils of foreign tyrants, for, an’ I send not 
my people to O’Neill, they shall do his work here at home — so 
help me the God whose Church I will henceforth serve and de- 
fend at my life’s peril.” 

Nay, be not so rash,” interposed Muskerry, seeing that most 
of those present appeared to be of the same mind, “ do nothing 
hastily ” 

But his words were little heeded in the stern determination 
which St. Leger’s contemptuous treatment had evoked. The 
half-slumbering spirit of patriotism, and the growing sympathy 
with their struggling brethren in other parts of the country, till 
then repressed by worldly prudence and expediency, burst forth 
at that moment bright and vigorous, eager for action, and 
ashamed of past tepidity. Even Muskerry himself caught the 
genial flame, and resolved, at last, to take the stand whicl 
his co-religionists had a right to expect from him. Thencefor- 
ward the proud banner of the McCarthys was seen where it 
ought to be, in the van of the Catholic arr^y of Munster, but, 
unhappily, the day was far distant when its rich folds waved 
over victorious bands. 

In Connaught, the old heroic spirit of the native tribes aw'aited 
but the spark to kindle it, and that was not long wanting. In the 
Archbishop of Tuam of that day, the Connaught clans had a tow^er 
of strength, for no truer patriot, no more fervent Christian than 
Malachy O’Kelly, breathed Irish air at that troubled period. 
Ilis influence had early roused the people of Sligo, and those 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


221 


parts, to follow the example of their friends in Leitrim, and thence 
on into Mayo, Roscommon and Galway, the healthful spirit of 
resistance to oppression made its way, strong in the twofold 
sense of right and might. But, alas ! the gigantic shadow of 
De Burgo shed its blighting coldness over the fairest and most 
promising portions of Connaught. Inaccessible alike to religious 
enthusiasm and patriotic ardor, Clanrickarde, Catholic as he was, 
continued all through that long and changeful period the linn 
friend, and (not always) trusted confidant of the puritanical faction 
who held the land and the people in thrall. 

A cold, calm, passionless man was this (so-called) great Earl of 
Clanrickarde — this head of the Norman tribes of Connaught — a 
man whose sympathies were in every instance with the oppres- 
sors of his country, and the persecutors of the faith he professed. 
Never was man more completely governed by prudence, more 
entirely politic and worldly-minded than Ulick Burke, who, like 
James Butler, constituted one of the great historical figures of 
that stirring drama. Like Ormond, too, Clanrickarde exercised 
a fatal influence on the action of the Confederate Catholics, but, 
of the two, the heaviest load of censure necessarily falls on the 
professing Catholic De Burgo rather than the renegade Butler, 
whose religion was after all kidnapped from him in iiis childish 
days ere yet his judgment could take cognizance of the truths 
of faith. 

Had it not been for Clanrickarde, and his deleterious policy, 
Connaught alone would have effected great things for the national 
cause, for even as it was, deeds of heroism, the loftiest and most 
praiseworthy, were achieved in various parts of Clanrickarde’s own 
country, during the really stirring times which followed, as will 
be seen in the sequel of this story. Meanwhile let us return to 
take a parting glance at the labors of our principal leaders. 

In the midland counties of Leinster, the genius and varied 
accomplishments of Rory O’Moore were every day producing 
great results. With the Normans of the Pale, his influence was 
great and perceptible, while his hold on the native chieftains was 
still as strong as in the first days of the confederacy. The senti- 
ment of “ God, and our Lady, and Roger O’Moore” still retained 
much of its pristine warmth, notwithstanding the many reverses, 


222 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and the grievous disappointments already encountered by those 
whom his sanguine spirit had at first buoyed up with delusive 
hopes. 

Strange that with such favorable dispositions existing in every 
part of the kingdom — with the English of the Pale — dogged and 
stern in their resolves when once taken — armed in the cause — 
with Connaught and Munster stirred to their very depths, and 
great part of Ulster still in their own hands — with the blessing 
of the Synod of Kells still echoing in their ears, and fresh in all 
men’s minds— was it not strange that just at that particular junc- 
ture — that is to say, towards the end of April, — the so-lately con- 
quering army of Ulster — or rather the forces brought together by 
the northern chieftains — should be on the very verge of dissolu- 
tion, and merely holding together as it were on sutfrance, with 
little power for good to fnends or harm to enemies. The sturdy ^ 
spirit of Sir Phelim, even, had at length given way to the united 
pressure of disappointment, want of necessaries and protracted 
failure. The unsuccessful attempt on Drogheda rankled in his 
mind and depressed him more than he would Avillingly acknow- 
ledge — for his vanity had sustained a severe wound in being 
obliged to retreat before Ormond without striking even a blow, 
after losing so many weeks around the old borough. 

It was long before the other northern chiefs began t5 imbibe 
Sir Phelim’s desponding spirit — affairs grew desperate indeed 
when Sir Con Magennis, and Roderick Maguire, and Art McMa- 
hon gave up hopes of success. 

A meeting was held about the middle of April, in one of the 
castles of Sir Phelim O’Neill, situated on the borders of Lough 
Foyle. Most of the principal chiefs were present, and the avowed 
object of their deliberations was the best means of extricating 
themselves from the difficulties of their position. At first various 
suggestions were made as to the raising of finances for carrying 
on the war, some proposing one expedient, some another. 

Sir Phelim listened with ill-concealed impatience, turning from 
one to the other of the speakers with a lowering brow and a 
flashing eye as he strode the long hall to and fro, stopping ever 
and anon to hear some remark that struck him as forcible, or to 
make some curt reply. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


223 


At length he turned short on Lorcan Maguire who had said 
something about Owen Roe : “ In God’s name,” said he, “ let me 
hear nothing of ‘ our friends abroad’ — I am sick of the very word. 
They are all over-careful of their own safety, take my word for 
it, to put their necks in danger by helping us. They are all in 
too good quarters where they are, depend upon it, to come hither 
in search of poverty and hardship. Know you, Lorcan ! the ex- 
act amount of our resources at this present moment while you all 
talk of Father Luke Wadding and Owen Roe, and the people up 
the country, and such like fustian I Do you know, I say, any 
of ye, what we have of a certainty to count on V’ 

One expressed total ignorance on the subject, another made a 
random guess, evidently to satisfy the impatient chieftain as much 
as anything else, while a third inquired to what particular sup- 
plies he had reference. 

“ To what particular one,” cried Sir Phelim, in a tone half 
fierce, half derisive ; “ why, they be all about on a par with us. 
Take, for instance, our ammunition — ha ! lia ! ha ! Of a surety, 
your Catholic powers and ‘ our countrymen abroad’ have done 
well for us in regard to that article — we have just a little more 
than one keg of powder remaining, so judge how far that would 
go against a regular airniy well supplied with all things needful. 
By mine honor, an’ we ever take up arms again in this quarrel, 
they must needs give us something else besides fair promises, 
which, though very soothing to the ear, will do little in the way of 
making head against a powerful enemy.” 

“ What is to be done, then V demanded McMahon ; “ are we 
to stay here quietly awaiting the day when Ormond or perchance 
Coote will be sent to visit us on our hearthstones 

“ Not so,” said Sir Phelim ; “ rather than fall into the hands 
of either — even the smooth-tongued Butler — I would hide my 
head beneath yonder stream.” 

“Shame, shame, Sir Phelim 1” cried Magennis warmly; “Jet 
no man hear such despairing words — all unmeet for warrior’s 
tongue to utter, much less a Christian.” 

“ You who are both a warrior and a Christian, Con,” said 
0 Neill with sneering emphasis; “ do you propose remaining here 
to await a lucky turn in our 'affairs — help, for instance, from 
abroad I” 


224 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Magennis shook his head sadly. “ Heaven direct us for the 
best !” said he, “it is a hard alternative, but I fear we mu-st 
e’en seek some place of safety.” 

“Just so,” cried Sir Phelim exultingly, while his brother Tir- 
logh laughed outright; “ my notion is that we needs must place 
tire sea between us and the bloodliounds who will speedily be out 
on our track.” 

“ Sir Phelim !” said Roderick Maguire in a reproachful tone, 

“ bethink you what you say !” 

“ I do, Rory, I do, and, before Heaven, it grieves my heart to 
speak in such wise, but what can we do, man ! what can we do 'i 
Bethink you of our only keg of powder, our empty cotFers, and 
our just as empty commissariat !” 

Slowly and reluctantly, and with many a heart-rending sigh, tho ^ 
necessity of flight was generally admitted — at least until such times 
as the affairs of the insurgents assumed a more prosperous aspect 
— and even the sternest and bravest of the chiefs could no longer 
find any reasonable protest to enter against such a step. With 
heavy hearts and downcast eyes they were about to separate, 
sadly thinking that God only knew under what circumstances 
they might meet again, or if they ever should. 

All at once the door was thrown open and in rushed the youth 
Angus, closely followed by Shamus Beg, the latter evidently 
remonstrating with his friend on the imprudent step he was tak- 
ing. After them stepped softly in a third individual, a dark, silent 
young man, a soldier in O’Hanlon’s company, between whom and 
Shamus an extraordinary friendship had been observed to 
exist from an early period of their military connection. This 
young man was named Donough, and his influence over the fiery 
clansman of Tyrone was by all remarked, but, like Angus Dhu, 
nothing more was known as to who he was, or whence he came. 

On this occasion both Shamus and Donough seemed to be 
solely intent on restraining Angus within the bounds of prudence 
and decorum, but the youth, evidently laboring under some 
strange excitement, broke from their grasp and burst upon the 
astonished chieftains like some wild and beautiful vision. 

“ Sir Phelim O’Neill !” he cried, in Irish, the tartan on his 
breast heaving tumultuously with the force of his agitation, “ is 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


225 


it true what I hear that the chiefs of Ulladh are giving up Gcnl’s 
holy cause — tlie righteous cause of justice and revenge — giving 
it up like old calUoghs at the very first back-set that comes on 
them. Is it true, Sir Phelim ! or is it not V' 

“ Angus ! Angus !” whispered Shamus, “ for your life do not 
speak so ! He will hang you as sure as death ! — oh Angus ! 
what’s come over you I” 

“ Let me alone, Shamus,” cried the excited youth, struggling to 
free himself from the other’s friendly grasp, “he must and 
shall answer my question, for it is the voice of God /” 

There was the fire of inspiration in his dark gleaming eyes, 
and his last words sounded strangely in the ears of the chieftains, 
most of whom were strongly susceptible of religious feeling. 
Even Sir Phelim, although less under the control of religion than 
many of the others, felt a strange emotion stirring within him at 
these singular words. 

“ Angus !” said he coming forward, and laying his hand on the 
youth’s shoulder, “ Angus, we cannot do otherwise — we have no 
means of continuing the war !” 

“ Say not so,” cried Angus I)hu in a solemn tone ; “ the God for 
whom you do battle does but try your faith — the help so long 
delayed is even now at hand, and you will live to drive the 
enemy before you as chaff before the wind — fly not — desert not 
your post, as you fear the wrath of God — dare not one of you 
cross the water, at this time, for, an’ you do, the land of Erin 
you shall never see again. Courage, chiefs of the Gael ! this is 
the darkest hour, but the dawn is close at hand, and a day of 
glory and of brightness is rising over the mountains !” So saying, 
he turned and darted from the room, followed by his two friends 
silent and abashed. Strange to say, his words decided the chief- 
tains to remain in the country and await the merciful designs of 
God in their favor. The result wil be seen in our second part, 
when we hope to lay before the reader scenes and characters 
entirely new, yet still bearing on the fortunes of our “ Confeder- 
ate Chieftains,” and the glorious work to which so many years 
of their lives were devoted. 


10 ^ 


END OP TUB FIRST PART. 


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THE 


CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ A combination and a form indeed, 

Where every god did seem to set his seal, 

To give the world assurance of a man.” 

Shakespeare. 

The burning sun of a July day was some hours’ journey down 
the western sky, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen 
on moor and meadow in a pastoral district of Donegal County, 
where the country assumes a less rugged aspect, and the moun- 
tains recede on either hand, leaving only a broken and undulat- 
ing surface to mark their vicinity. In other years this so pic- 
turesque region, naturally one of great fertility, would have been 
clothed at that season with the golden gifts of Ceres awaiting 
the reaper’s sickle, and the numerous orchards which nestled 
7away amongst its sunny knolls and swelling hills would have 
f groaned beneath the weight of heavily-laden branches, but now 
nor waving crop, nor fruit, nor flower, graced the scene, for 
war’s desolating footprints were everywhere visible, and the 
country, far as the eye could reach, was a dreary, dreary waste. 
The labors of man were nowhere visible, save where shattered 
walls, and garden flowers run wild, and shrubs and fruit-tsees 


4 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


bent and broken, gave evidence of former cultivation. Man had 
been there, for his works were there in ruins, but man was there 
no longer, and after even a cursory glance, the traveller — they 
were then passing few — came to the sorrowful conclusion that 
the fair scene was a savage solitude, lifeless and voiceless all. 
Even the road which wound in a sort of serpentine fashion over 
and around the hills and hillocks was now so blocked up with 
accumulated rubbish, so broken and indented with deep ruts as 
to be hardly passable, especially for strangers. 

And strangers they must have been, for all their Irish costume, 
the two gentlemen who, mounted on the small, shaggy ponies 
for which that region was then as now remarkable,* were slowly 
and with difficulty making their way through the momentarily- 
recurring obstacles which impeded their course. Both were ar- 
rayed in the picturesque costume of the native chiefs, with the 
single exception that the harradh was replaced by a Spanish 
hat, without feathers, descending in a point over the brows. 
The cloak, which, as an indispensable part of the national cos- 
tume, each wore, was of the shortest and lightest, so that even 
the faint summer breeze lifted their folds, and left the richly- 
ornamented jackets and embroidered leathern girdles of the 
travellers full in view, with forms which, though cast in far dif- 
ferent moulds, were both graceful in their symmetry, and indi- 
cative of much personal strength. The one who rode foremost 
was a man of some five-and-thirty years, or thereabouts, tall 
and commanding in stature, and of rather grave aspect, albeit 
that his fresh and somewhat florid complexion, with the spark- 
ling light of his clear blue eyes, gave a character of youthful 
buoyancy to a face otherwise calm and composed in all its 
lineaments. There was the slightest possible stiffness about the 
whole face and figure, though the one was singularly prepos- 
sessing, if not handsome, and the other was, as 1 have said, 
both graceful and athletic. Take him altogether, and he gave 
you the idea of a man who had battled with the world, and had 
come victorious from the struggle ; a man of earnest purpose, and 

* I presume there are few of my Irish readers who have not seen, 
or at least heard of, the Cushendall ponies. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


5 


stem resolve, yet full of the kindliest and most generous sym- 
pathies, lofty and pure in kis aspirations, and having all his facul- 
ties under habitual control. His companion was a younger, and, 
perhaps, a more attractive individual, with a slashing, dashing, 
soldierly air, and a dark handsome set of features illumined 
by a pair of brilliant black eyes, so wild, and, at the same time, so 
piercing that you shrank from meeting their searching glance. 
Yet was there an air of such carelesss gaiety about the jauntily- 
attired youth that you loved to look on him, you knew not why, 
and as you looked, you would perchance say within yourself 
that he reminded one of the more warlike troubadours of old 
Provence, or of the ambitious striplings, half boy, half man, who, 
in chivalrous times, were wont either 

“ To follow to the field some warlike lord, 

Or tune the lute in gentle lady’s bower.” 

And truly the elder of these cavaliers might well have been a 
“ warlike lord,” but nor page nor squire ever bore him with 
such hghtsome air in his master’s company as did that hand- 
some youth so richly attired withal, and so gracefully gay in 
word and mien. 

Yet graceful and captivating though he was, the younger gen- 
tleman seemed under a certain restraint in the garments which 
at first sight so well became him, and as he glanced occasionally 
at the truis and hose, and the somewhat clumsy buskins which 
encased his lower limbs, a smile of mischievous meaning curled 
his thin lip. 

The two had been discoursing, as well as the frequent inter- 
ruptions of the toilsome road permitted, and their theme was the 
all-engrossing one of the strangely-complicated position of par- 
ties in the hapless land of the Gael, as the elder cavalier patheti- 
cally called green Erin. They both spoke in the Irish tongue, 
the younger with the ease and fluency of a native, the elder with 
a sort of hesitation and a slightly foreign accent, which told of a 
protracted sojourn in other climes where the language of Ireland 
was seldom, if ever, spoken. Good friends the two seemed to 
be, however, and a perfect understanding appeared to exist 


6 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


between them, judging by the cordial warmth with which they 
concurred in judging “men and measures.” It was only at 
intervals and by brief snatches that they could carry on their 
conversation, but when a smooth patch of road made itself visible, 
they eagerly availed themselves of it to journey side by side and 
resume the thread of discourse so often broken. 

“ Then, by your showing,” said the elder gentleman, as the 
other gained his side, after leaping his nag fairly over a pile of 
rubbish, “ by your showing, gentle sir, the aflfairs ot the Ca- 
tholic party are not altogether desperate as yet.” 

“ Desperate did you say T’ cried the young cavalier impa- 
tiently, “I tell you no. So far, we have held our own — ay! 
marry, and more than that, balancing our loss and gain ono 
against the other. Of a surety, those of the government faction 
— to wit, the secret abettors of the Parliament of England in this 
country — are in worse plight than we, and have less to boast of, 
and as for the king’s party, of which I would fain speak in 
friendly terms, did truth allow (which woe is me 1 it doth not), 
as for them, their success, up to this time, is, as it were, a house 
of glass, which one stroke of ours would shiver to atoms. Had 
we but cannon and field pieces in any adequate number, we 
could bring even the proud Butler to his knee with marvellous 
quickness. You smile, sir stranger, but I tell you truly ; Ormond 
could not stand before us had we but the things I mentioned.” 

“Nay, I know not that,” said the tall stranger with grave 
emphasis, “ I fear me much that you both underrate my lord of 
Ormond’s talents, skill in war-craft, and the resources which he 
has at command. Moreover, there be others of the royal gene- 
rals men of mark, and not unknown to fame. I have heard that 
Stewart and Montgomery have done wonders here in the north, 
with far inferior forces, against Sir Phelim O’Neill and his entire 
strength, while in the other province Coote and Ormond carried 
all before them, and every passing day, it would seem, 
strengthens the hands of our enemies ; where in the onset we 
had but the two generals last named to dread, we have now 
many commanders of note to encounter. Inchi quin and Vava- 
sour and Broghill, not to speak of others of lesser note, are 
a powerful strength to the enemy 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


7 


“And what of thatl” cried the other sharply ; “ if you come 
to speak of generals, we have those who need not fear to stand 
before the best of them. Think you, noble sir, that we have not 
gained of late even greater accessions of strength. A host of 
noble and distinguished names already adorn our muster-roll, 
and for every one they can boast, we can number ten.” 

The stranger shook his head sadly. “ It is well,” said he, “ it 
is very well to see the noble and the brave enrolling themselves 
beneath the national standard, but of all those lords and honora- 
ble gentlemen, what one is known to fame by feats of arms or 
military skill 'i What have they done as yet, even in this matter, 
to give us hope of future success 'I” 

“ Much— much have they done,” cried the young man eagerly ; 
“ were it not that you were a stranger in the country I would 
marvel at your asking a question so insulting to the brave men 
who have many times of late led the people on to victory — ay ! 
and men of the Norman blood, too, for all the native chiefs were 
wont to deem them over-cold and indifferent!” 

“ Humph I” said the other, affecting an incredulity which he 
did not feel, “ I should like to hear somewhat of these great 
achievements. Perchance the late battle of Kilrush, by some 
strange optical delusion, is set down by you hot-headed young- 
sters as a victory 1— of that affair I have indeed heard, and my 
cheek burned as I listened. I was assured by those whose word 
I could not doubt, that Lord Ormond, with a force of barely 
three thousand men, put Lord Mountgarret and Rory O’More to 
flight at the pass of Mageny, with an army of eight thousand. 
Call you that a victory, young sir V* 

“ Twit us not with that disastrous affair, I pray you,” said the 
young cavalier with undisguised emotion ; “on that unhappy 
day we lost full many a brave comrade, some even of high stand- 
ing amongst us, but as God liveth, sir stranger, it was no fault 
of our commanders, but was owing entirely to the want of pro- 
per discipline in our forces, with the old complaint of little or 
no artilleiy. I tell you our generals did what men could to 
arrest the course of victory, but, alas ! the veteran, and well- 
trained soldiers of Ormond and Tichbome, armed at all points, 
were more than a match for our poor fellows, all unused to war 


8 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


as they were, and badly provided even with hand-arms. The 
fates would have it as it was, and we had only to give in for the 
time, but with God’s good aid, the stain of that day shall not 
long rest upon our name — we shall not always be as bare as we 
, now are in regard to the munitions of war. My word for it, 
llory O’More, were there none other, will see that the disgrace 
which befel us at Mageny be redeemed to our country’s credit.” 

“Now that you speak of him,” said the elder gentleman, 
“know you where speech might be had of him*? He escaped 
unhurt, I am told, from that famous battle” — this was said with 
a good-humored smile — “ but can you tell me what he has been 
doing since 1 Surely, so much talent, and so many good parts, 
together with so much patriotism, cannot lie rusting in idleness 
at a time like this V’ 

“ Wrong not O’More so far as to suppose it,” said the youth 
with generous warmth, as, having paced his little steed carefully 
through the scattered fragments of a garden-wall which had 
fallen outward on the road, he once more took his station along- 
side of his companion ; “ Rory hath not been seen in public since 
that disastrous day, but he is not the man to give up a cause so 
lightly, and I warrant me he is working like a mole under the 
feet of our opponents. Silently and steadily O’More does his 
work, and to him, under God, is due the vast organization which 
even now embraces great part of the island. Many and many 
a Norman noble, now devoted heart and soul to our interests, 
would never have perilled life or fortune in the cause, were it 
not for that same Rory O’More of whom your words, and still 
more, your sneering tone, imply some doubt 1” 

It was with difficulty that the tall stranger suppressed a smile, 
as certain memories from the past floated up to the surface of 
his mind, but whatever his thoughts might have been, he chose 
to keep them to himself, saying only that he was glad to hear 
O’More had done so much. 

“ But I pray you, tell me, good youth,” he said quickly, as if 
to change the subject, “ what has been achieved by these com- 
manders of whom you speak I Drogheda I have heard of, and 
Cork, Kilrush in like manner, ay ! and the re-capture of many a 
northern stronghold by the royal generals, in so far that poor 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINa. 


9 


Phdim Roe — excuse me,” seeing that the other looked surprised 
— “ I moan Sir Phelim O’Neill — and his brother-chieftains here in 
Ulster are all but in despair — failure, to speak in serious mood, 

I have heard much of — but of success — at least to any extent — I 
have yet to hear !” 

“By the rood, sir stranger,” cried the youth impetuously, “ 
know not what to think of you. Where have you been that the ’ 
echo of our joyful shouts reached not your ear when Mountgar- 
ret took Kilkenny, and his brave son, Edmund Butler, compelled 
Waterford to open its gates to him'l Perchance you have not 
heard, either, how Limerick hath been taken for us by Lord 

Muskerry and Lord Skerrin ” 

“ Thank Heaven !” muttered the stranger, “ the McCarthy spi- 
rit is at last aroused — it was well nigh time — ^but,” raising his 
voice, “ what boots the taking of a few cities, when all the open 
country is in the hands of the enemy. What though Waterford 
and Limerick be ours, when St. Leger lords it still over that 
province ” 

“ I cry you mercy, noble sir, he lords it no longer ” 

“ How 1 — what mean you 1” 

“ I mean that the old firebrand is gone some weeks ago on a 

voyage to the other world ” 

“ Dead, say youl is Sir William St. Leger, then, dead! ” 

“ Ay! dead as a door-nail 1” 

An exclamation of pleasure was on the stranger’s lips, but sup- 
pressing it, he asked very quietly : “ Was he slain or what 1” 

“ Not he, — ^no arm of ours was so lucky as to execute ven- 
geance on him — ho died of — of LimerieJe /” 

“How 1 — whatl — he died of Limerick — what manner of 
disease may that be 

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the arch youngster, exulting in the 
thought that he had said a good thing, “ I see even travelled 
beaux may be puzzled at times by a simple word. St. Leger died 
of Limerick just as Queen Mary is said by the scribes to have died • 
of Calais — the old blood-sucker took its loss so much to heart — 
coming in the rear of ever so many other mishaps, that his heart 
broko — or at least what served him for a heart — it was red-hot 


10 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


iron, I rather think, — and off he went — to join Pluto’s court bo» 
low, most likely !” 

“ For shame, young sir,” said his graver companion, “ such 
manner of speech befits not such a theme — death is ever a 
solemn subject, and mortal man may not judge his fellow — 
even though he be— a St. Leger. If the man be gone to his 
account, leave him to the Sovereign Judge of all. How stands 
the king affected, that is, what do our friends here believe the 
royal mind to be V’ 

“ The royal mind, quotha! By the mass, if there he a royal 
mind, it is so enveloped in coatings of divers kinds that the art 
of man may not penetrate its manifold disguise. Still there are 
amongst us men who, deeming themselves wondrous wise, do pre- 
tend to fathom that same royal mind, ay, marry ! and to see amid 
its tortuous windings a secret sympathy with our endeavors. For 
myself, I have no faith in any such leaning of the king’s majesty 
towards us, albeit that Sir Phelim here in the north, and Lord 
Muskerry in the south,* do profess to hold commissions from 
' him ” 

“ What say you ? — commissions from the king ! — can it be that 
so wily a prince so far committed himself, at a time when his 
enemies, the Puritans and Parliamentarians, had him encom 
passed round about 1" 

“ I tell you, sir cavalier,” said the young man earnestly, 
“ there is not a Puritan of them all who has less liking for us at 
bottom than his grace’s majesty. Why, it was but the other day, 
as one might say, that, in his cringing address to the Parliament 

* Warner tells a curious story, which I have never seen referred to 
by any writer, to the effect that Lord Muskerry sent to Sir William St. 
Legor by Mr. Walsh, an eminent lawyer of the national party, a 
commission from the king duly stamped with the great seal, author- 
izing him to collect forces, and to do whatever seemed expedient to 
him, in support of the Catholic cause, thus identifiod with the cause 
of royalty. Warner goes on to say that St. Leger was so convinced 
of the authenticity of this document, that for that time he drew off 
his forces and left Muskerry at liberty to follow out his plans. War- 
ner’s Civil WarSy Book III., p. 189. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


11 


of England, he demanded supplies to equip an army which he 
meant to lead himself into Ireland to punish his ‘ seditious Popish 
subjects.’ Ila ! ha ! good for him that the Parliament refused 
to trust him. Neither men, money nor arms would they give him, 
so that he was fain to stay at home and leave others to chastise 
‘ the pestilent Irish rebels another pet phrase of his when dis- 
coursing of us. Nay, nay, never tell me of King Charles being 
our secret friend. I question if even his queen. Catholic though 
she be, has much interest in our struggle, apart from its bearing 
on the position of her husband. Even Lord Gormanstown him- 
self had, to my knowledge, conformed to that way of thinking 
before his death — slowly and unwillingly he came to own it ” 

“ Before his death !” repeated the stranger, with a start ; “ is 
Gormanstown then dead P’ 

“ Bead ! ay, marry, is he,” replied the youth sadly, “ he had 
stalted aU on the success of our cause, and his heart was fixed 
on the re-establishment of order and religion in tliis distracted 
land, but his hopes were too sanguine, and the brief series of 
disasters which followed the discomfiture at Drogheda, weighed 
down his heart with a load of sorrow which speedily brought him 
to the grave. Alas ! yes ! Gormanstown is gone from amongst 
us, and sorely do we miss him at the council-table, ay I and in the 
field, for, with the weight of fifty years upon him, he was still 
stout and active. But his prudence and his caution are our 
heaviest loss ! God rest his soul in peace !” 

“ Amen !” said the other with solemn fervor, and both raised 
their hats from their brows, and then rode silently on for a short 
space, as though each were pursuing some train of thought sug- 
gested by the sad announcement just made. 

“ Heaven help us !” said the elder traveller at length, and he 
heaved a sigh ; “ what mournful traces doth not war leave behind 
it — ay ! even on the soil ! Truly this is a dreary road to travel — 
God forbid there be many such in Ulster !” 

“ And yet this is Phelim’s work !” said the younger gentleman ; 
“ he vowed to have revenge for Island Magee, and, by St. Bren- 
dan ! he hath kept his word — the enemy hath not had all the 
slaughtering to himself, I promise you, for aU that the cliieftains 
who commenced the work of revolution had no mind to shod 


12 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


blood — it was the hardest necessity that drove them to it. But 
one thing is certain, to wit, that the worst doings of our Ulster 
chiefs — even the fierce Phelim himself — do not equal in atrocity 
the cruelties exercised by some of the royal — or rather the Pu- 
ritan captains ” 

“ Ay, marry,” said the other, turning quickly in his saddle, 
“ all Europe rings with the monstrous deeds of Coote and his 
colleagues ” 

“ Ha, the hell-hound, his name was as a spell- word of evil from 
which our bravest shrank in terror. I warrant me, the vault of 
hell re-echoes with the sound at this hour — he has fallen under 
the lash himself— ay ! hath he, and of a surety, the infernal tor- 
turers have a long score to reckon with him — Christ save us ! 
what a cloud!” and he pointed to a mass of dense black vapor 
which had been gradually gathering overhead and extending its 
wings like some huge bird of prey, until the sun itself was 
obscured, and seemed suddenly to withhold its light from the 
earth below, over which the shadow of the awful cloud settled 
down in darkness. What light remained was barely sufficient to 
guide the travellers on their devious and difficult way, and to 
make the scene still more ghastly, the forked lightning began to 
pierce the threatening mass of vapor, and the air became all at 
once so thick as to impede respiration. 

“Now God and His holy angels shield us from harm !” said the 
elder cavalier, and raising his right hand he made the sign of the 
cross on his ample forehead ; “ we are in for a thunder-storm, 
and most likely a tornado after it — look around, my young 
friend, and see if this wilderness contain no human dwelhng. 
For me, I have been straining mine eyes in vain with the same 
intent since yonder ominous cloud began to obscure the heavens. 
Would that I had taken the guide — but then I deemed the way 
so short, and fancied I knew it so well — so I did, too, but alas ! 
it is not the same— changed — changed — all — Heaven save us ! 
Boy I boy 1 see you no dwelling 

“ Boy I” repeated his companion with scornful emphasis, “ me- 
thinks, sir stranger, you are over free ! One who has commanded 
tt troop of horse, ay ! and (though he tell it himself) seen some 
service, must needs be other than a boy I Mother of God . 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


13 


what a scene ! — what a ghastly glare, and heard you ever such 
thunder — it seems as though the end of things was at hand ” 

“ Ha ! who comes there V’ cried the other cavalier, as a third 
horseman dashed up at neck-or-nothing speed, apparently reck- 
less of life and limb. 

“ Your guide,” was the brief response, as the soldier, for 
such he was, passed the travellers at a gallop, and reined in his 
horse on reaching the front. “We at the castle knew what 
manner of road lay before you, and fearing some evil might befal 
you, thought it best to follow your footsteps, so as to be at hand 
in case your memory failed you.” 

“ Thanks, good fellow,” said the elder traveller, “ thanks for 
your friendly forethought, but I see not now what you can do to 
aid us — place of shelter there seemeth none, and the rain will 
speedily pour down in torrents from yonder black cloud ” 

“ Follow me !” said the guide, “ and we shall see — if my mem- 
ory fail me not, there should be one dwelling inhabited some- 
where hereabouts !” 

The two gentlemen followed in silence, anxiously watching 
the motions of their guide, who kept a few paces in front, peer- 
ing on either side through the gloom, down into the ground, as it 
seemed to them, hallooing through his closed hand ever and 
anon. Still no answer came, and still the storm increased, and 
the younger traveller waxed impatient. 

“ Man !” he called out angrily from behind, “ what mummery 
is this 1 I tell you, no living soul is within hearing — ^he were 
wors^ than a fool who rested his hopes on such a chance ! By 
my faith. Sir Phelim, I could wish your brawny self in my place 
this hour, an’ you were, my good sir, you might perchance be 
more sparing of stone walls hereafter — holy St. John! we are 
in for another deluge 1” 

But just at that moment when the big drops began to patter 
against the faces of the travellers and the thunder growled be- 
hind them like a pack of wolves on their track, the wild halloo of 
the guide was faintly responded to, as though fi-om the bowels of 
the earth, and in the midst of a pile of ruins a little back from 
the road, a light made itself dimly visible, a' moving, twinkling 


14 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


light, too, seeming as though carried in the hand of a person not 
as yet visible. 

“ Thank God, they’re here still,” said the guide in a soliloquiz- 
ing tone ; “ I knew not but it’s dead they might be by this time.” 

“Enter in God’s name!” said a voice speaking the Irish 
tongue, from a yawning aperture in the wall, close to where the 
elder traveller stood — so close indeed that ho started at the un- 
expected sound, and the equally unexpected sight of a female 
form holding aloft a piece of blazing bog-wood. “ Shelter you 
can have, if nothing more !” 

“ Follow her 1” whispered the guide, seeing the strangers hesi- 
tate, “ witliin you have nought to fear — without, danger and may- 
hap destruction are abroad.” 

Nothing more was necessary, for the rain began to pour down 
in torrents. Leaping lightly from their nags, which the guide 
took in charge, the two gentlemen hastened after the unknown 
damsel through what seemed to have been a flagged passage 
leading, on the right, into a low chamber of narrow dimensions, 
the stone roof of which effectually excluded the pelting rain, 
while the total absence of anything like windows, although giv- 
in g a tomb-like appearance to the place, served now to shut out 
the lightning, and conveyed a sense of security that was very 
acceptable to the travellers after their long exposure to the fury 
of the elements. A wide open chimney occupied one entire side 
of the little chamber, and on a low stool close to the hearth sat 
an aged woman, cowering, July evening as it was, with out- 
stretched hands, over a few half-burned brambles. Her face, as 
she turned it towards the travellers, was ghastly pale, and old, 
and wrinkled, and misery was stamped on eveiy feature, yet the 
silver-grey hair was deftly rolled back from her high forehead 
under a coif which, though of the coarsest texture, was scrupu- 
lously clean. Her skinny arms, bare from the elbows, were 
long, and lean, and yellow, but, what seemed strange to both 
travellers, and they noticed it at once, was an antique ring of 
the finest gold which glittered on the third finger of her left hand. 

“ Mother I” said the younger female, after placing the strangers 
on two rough blocks of wood which, except the stool before 
mentioned, were the only seats to be seen ; “ mother, give the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


15 


word of welcome to these noble gentlemen who have taken shelter 
here from the storm !” and so saying she placed her little torch 
in a clay-socket over the hob-stone. By its light, the aged crone 
carefully examined the faces of her guests, or rather that of the 
elder traveller, on whom her eyes first fell, nor spoke, nor even 
noticed his respectful salutation, till her scrutiny was accom- 
plished. No emotion of any kind was visible on her withered 
features, neither joy, surprise, nor even curiosity, but slowly 
rising from her seat, she drew herself up to a height little to bo 
expected from her previous crouching attitude, then bowing her 
head with an air of almost queenly dignity, she said : 

“ Welcome, son of the Hy-Nial ! welcome to our miserablo 
dwelling ! — you come to us in storm and cloud as beseems one 
so long foretold. May your coming bring back the sunshine of 
prosperity to the mournful children of the Gael !'* 

“ Son of the Hy-Nial !” repeated the younger traveller, turning 
in surprise to his companion who met his look with a grave 
smile, then rose and returned the old dame’s salute with a rev- 
erence due to her age ; “ son of the Hy-Nial,” said the young 

man still looking at him, “ can it be that you are ” 

“ Owen O'Neill, commonly called in these parts, as I am told, 
Owen Roe” 

“ I knew it,” said the old woman in a voice now quivering 
with emotion ; “ I knew you were of the line of Con ! Judith” — 
turning to her daughter — “ said I not that the champion of the 
Red Hand was on his way to join the men of Erin 1 — I told you 
I saw him in my dream last night — ay ! did I, and struggling 
with a huge wolf, which he will speedily have to do, and that 
not with one, but many — rejoice, my daughter, and smile as you 
were wont that your mother’s heart may be gladdened !” 

“ Colonel O’Neill is welcome,” said the young woman, coming 
a step or two forward from the dark corner into which she had 
retired ; “ long hath his coming been looked for by the tribes of 
Ulster, and now is their hour of sorest need !” 

The tone and manner of the speaker gave singular signifi- 
cance to her words, and were such as to attract the attention of 
both the cavaliers. The younger could hardly repress an ex- 
clamation of surprise, but O’Neill, habitually calm and cool, 


IG 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


merely fixed his keen eye on the young woman, if young she 
could be called with the impression of some thirty years legibly 
stamped on her pale brow. There was little of youthfulness 
remaining in her face or figure, nor was she what could be called 
a beauty, but there was more than beauty, more than youth in 
the dark depths of her radiant eyes, and the exquisite delicacy 
of her fair Grecian features, expressive at once of mildness and 
candor, together with a certain amount of firmness seldom seen 
on so womanly a countenance. A heavy mass of rich brown 
hair was gathered in a soft twist to the back of her head, leaving 
its admirable conformation (as phrenologists would say) fully 
exposed to view. Her figure was tall and of perfect symmetry 
in its proportions, while every movement was marked by ease 
and grace. Sooth to say, it was hard to reconcile the air and 
bearing, the words and manner of either mother or daughter 
with the extreme poverty indicated by all around them. The 
dress of both was the coarse brown drugget, or “ linsey-wool- 
sey” worn by the lowest classes of the peasantry, even that old 
and faded, although clean. Before any one had spoken another 
word, Judith had withdrawn into her obscure station, and tho 
gentlemen were both too well bred to follow her thither with 
their eyes. 

“ Thanks, good ladies,” said O’Neill after a moment’s silence, 
“ thanks for your kind and courteous welcome.” 

“ Ladies, good ladies !” muttered the crone in a half-audible 
voice, as she slowly resumed her three-legged stool. “ Ladies-*- 
ha ! ha ! ha !” and she croaked a sort of mocking laugh. 

“ Nay, I beg to be excused from tendering thanks,” said the 
younger cavalier with an assumption of gaiety that did not con- 
ceal a feeling of bitterness lurking beneath. “ The welcome was 
all for you — no word of kindness hath reached my ear, though I, 
too, am of tho Gael — in outward show, at least !” he added in an 
under tone. 

“ Not so. Sir John Netterville,” said the guide, who now 
appeared from the dark passage, “ the feathers do not make 
the bird — you were not of the Gael, noble sir, when you rode 
with D unboy ne’s troop to the luckless pass of Mageny !” 

“Netterville! Netterville!” repeated the old woman slowly. 


• THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


17 


and turning, she fixed her stili piercing eye on the now laughing, 
blushing face of the young nobleman, “ methinks I should know 
that name — alas, yes ! I once had a lover, a gallant Norman 
knight from within the Pale — Rufus Netterville was his name,~a 
brother of my Lord Netterville.” 

“ He was my grand sire, that Rufus,” cried the young man, 
pale with astonishment, “ but tell me, in Heaven’s name, who are 
you 

“ You may well ask the question,” the old woman replied, as 
she cast her eye around on her miserable abode ; “ young 
man, you see before you — the widow of O’Cahan, the daughter 
of Maguire !” Hearing this, even O’Neill was surprised out of 
his usual self-possession. “ Alas, poor lady !” he exclaimed with 
emotion, “ what a fall is yours !” 

“ Good Heavens !” cried Netterville, “ can it be 'I How — how 
is it 

“ That my daughter will tell you, if perchance you tarry 
longer!” 

A peal of thunder shook the old walls at that moment, and 
Netterville said with a gay laugh, “ this storm is wondrous kind, 
you see, for it leaves us no choice I” O’Neill gave an anxious 
glance down the long passage, but the sky was still dark and 
threatening, and the heavy fall of the rain reached his ear even 
there. However great his hurry might be, he saw there was 
nothing for it but to stay and listen. Making a virtue of neces- 
sity, with grave politeness he expressed his wish to hear the story. 

“But first I would wish to know of my young friend here,” 
said O’Neill with much composure, “ whether it be customary for 
the gentlemen of the Pale to assume the costume of the native 
chiefs in token of adhesion to their cause T’ 

“ I understand you. Colonel,” Sir John quickly replied, “ and 
will answer your question by another : Is it customary with Irish 
gentlemen of foreign reputation landing hither from Spain or 
France to lay aside the uniform of the armies with whom their 
fame and laurels were won, in token that they hold no further 
connection with those friendly nations 

“ Aptly put. Sir John, but methinks a gentleman of such keen 
wit might fui’ther ‘ understand’ that I, finding occasion to jour- 


18 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


ney alone over a long tract of country whose condition I know 
not, may deem it more expedient to adopt the costume of the 
native gentry and nobility, as likely to attract less notice than 
the uniform of a foreign army !” 

“ Something similar is the case with me,” said Netterville in a 
tone of levity that was clearly assumed, “ the only difference 
being that my business is private and yours public. Are you 
satisfied 

O’Neill answered with a slight bow. He was not quite satis- 
fied, yet too polite to say so, he turned again to Judith and with 
a cheerful smile requested her to favor them with the promised 
recital. 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

“ And underneath that face, like summer’s oceans, 

Its life as noiseless, and its cheek as clear, 

Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart’s emotions. 

Love — hatred — pride — hope — sorrow — all, save fjar.” 

Fitz-Green Halleck. 

JiTDiTH approached her allotted task with the air of one who 
had but small liking for it. Without moving from her place in 
the corner, she asked the guide if there was no hkelihood of the 
storm ceasing, and his reply in the negative appeared to give her 
anything but pleasure. 

“ It is ill dallying in a vault like this, hearkening to old stories,” 
said she, “ when an oppressed country is groaning in sore tra- 
vail. Nay, colonel, I meant no reproach,” seeing L laL O’Neill 
reddened to the eyes, “ I do but lament the necessity which 
keeps you here. As for your companion, neither time nor tide 
awaits his going hence, and I see he burns to have the strange 
enigma of my mother’s fate solved. And yet the story is no- 
wise strange or uncommon in these latter days, and will take 
but brief space of time to tell.” 

“ Child!” said her mother testily, “ you mistake, the story is 
^ of much interest.” 

“ To us it is, mother,” and Judith smiled sadly. “ But not to 
others.” 

The gentlemen both hastened to express their extreme desire 
to hear it, such as it was, and Judith, without further remark, 
complied. In a clear, calm, passionless voice she told how her 
mother, although betrothed to young Netterville (with whom she 
ha 1 become acquainted during a visit to her maternal relatives, 
the O’Reillys of Breffny), was forced by her stern father to 


20 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


falfil a previous engagement made by him on her behalf with 
the chieftain of Dungiven ; how her husband, Brian O'Cahan, took 
sides with the great Earl, amd followed his fortunes all through 
those disastrous wars which ended in ruin and defeat, leaving 
Ulster a desert, and its noblest families beggars — “ ay, starving 
beggars,” said Judith bitterly, “ as we can tell to our sad misfor- 
tune. In the halls of Dungiven,* by the silver waters of the Roe, 
my mother had long dwelt in such peace as the evil times would 
allow, protected as well by the remoteness of her position as by 
the strong arms of the clansmen left by my father, to guard his 
home and the loved ones from whom cruel w^ar kept him so 
long absent. The years of the weary struggle passed — oh, how 
tediously ! and new sacrifices were demanded of my poor mother, 
for the three brave boys whom my father left as children, 
were no sooner able to wield a weapon than they quitted their 
mother one by one, to take their places by their father’s side 
amongst the veteran warriors of the north. Alas ! their career of 
arms was short — it was the will of Heaven that they should see 
their old home no more — their first campaign was their last, but 
my mother knew not of her loss — it was carefully kept from her 
— till, at the close of the long, long, bloody war, when the star 
of Tyrone had set, to all appearance, for ever, and the victor of 
so many battles had bent his knee before the upstart Mountjoy, 

* The Castle of Dungiven, one of the principal strongholds of the 
noble house of O’Cahan (O’ Kane), is thus described by a writer in the 
Dublin Penny Journal : “ The house, which is one hundred and fifty 
feet long and twenty feet wide, is seated on a gentle slope, and front- 
ing the southwest, and having a fosse and mounds for a defence in 
front, and, at either end of the building, round towers, projecting a 
little, and furnished with loop-holes for musketry. On the northeast 
are two courts, each fifty yards in length and forty in breadth, through 
which is the principal entrance ; the outer court is surrounded by a 
low wall, having a reservoir of water within it ; the inner court, which 
is rectangular, is defended by a wall twenty feet high, with embra- 
sures, &c., and at each angle are square towers as flankers : on the 
inside this wall is strengthened by an arched rampart, and runs round 
throe sides of the rectangle. The situation is commanding, and the 
views around it truly admirable.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


21 


when my father returned alone to his ancestral halls, foot-sore 
and weary, with garments soiled and tom, and his stalwart 
form bowed down with shame and sorrow, far more than years, 
then it was that my mother asked for her boys, and was told 
that they had fallen on the field of battle. Alas ! it was little 
comfort for her to hear, from the lips of their father and their 
chief, that they had died as became their lineage, dfed, too, in 
the arms of victory, two of them at Benburb, and one at the 
Yellow ^Eord when Bagnall’s haughty crest went down before 
the might of the Red-Hand.” 

“ Woe is me !” muttered the old woman in a dreary, dreamy 
voice, as she sat apparently but half conscious, with her eyes fixed 
on t]ie poor apology for a fire, which it seemed her business and 
her pleasure to keep alive ; “ woe is me ! I deemed my loss ,a 
heavy one — alas ! alas ! I lived to be thankful that my boys 
were gone !” 

Judith stopped and looked with tearful eyes on her mother, 
and Netterville was breaking out into an expression of sympathy, 
but the young woman, with grave dignity, motioned him to be 
silent. 

“ My mother loves not the language of pity,” said she in a 
.subdued tone, and she glanced furtively at O’Neill, whose eyes 
were moist, though he said nothing; “we of the old blood 
have pride in proportion to our poverty. Master Netterville 
— I mean. Sir John Netterville! — I told you, however, that 
my mother lost her children — they were all she had at that 
time. I have now to tell you that many months had not gone 
by, when my father lost lands and livings, houses, castles, and 
all, all that had been his, except the sorrowful partner of his 
life, and the few faithful followers whom neither hunger, nor cold, 
nor any other privation could detach from their lord and lady. 
Every foot of land he had was confiscated to the crown, in 
common with the domains of all the other chieftains, who had 
taken part with O’Neill in the late war, and at fifty, Brian 
O’Cahan found himself a houseless, homeless man, with a wife 
enfeebled by sorrow and suffering, looking to him for that sup- 
port and protection which the stout warrior had no longer to 
give. Truly, it w'as a sad day when they turned their backs on 


22 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Dungiven Castle, and bade adieu for ever to the statelier halls of 
Limavady,* and wandered forth in search of shelter, like unto 
our first parents when driven from the shades of Eden.” 

“ We thought we were leaving the Castle for ever — sure enough 
we did,” said the old woman with a ghastly smile on her withered 
features, “ for Brian said they’d be giving it and Limavady, too, 
to some drummer or fifer of their army, to set him up for a lord. 
But it seems they were afraid to leave the houses as they were, 
for fear of O’Cahan taking them back some day or another — • 
which between ourselves was just what he meant to do,” she 
added, nodding with a confidential air to O’Neill. “ So they bat- 
tered them down as well as they could, and woe is me \ I was 
fain to take shelter many a long day after in the old walls of 
Dungiven with my daughter, poor Judith there. Child of my 
heart !” and she turned her aged eyes on her daughter with a 
look of ineffable affection, “ child of my heart ! shQ came to us in 
our heavy sorrow ; two years after we left our home, she was 
born in a hut on the outskirts of our former territory, and she was 
but a fortnight old when her father was arrested on a fresh charge 
of stirring up the people to sedition. Heaven help us ! that was a 
black day to us, for the faithful few who had clung to us in our 
poverty and destitution, fell before our eyes,, one after another 
in the vain and rash hope of saving their cliief from falling a 
second time into the hands of the king’s soldiers. They fell one 
by one, at the door of our hut, with a prayer for O’Cahan on 
their dying lips, and over the pile made by their dead bodies on 

♦“Though the O’Cahans had a castle at Dungiven, yet (he principal 
residence of the chief was at Limavady {him an madhah), the dog’s 
leap, a delightful spot on the banks of the Roe, about four miles below 
Dungiven, where the river has sought out a narrow way between 
lofty and approaching rocks ; the situation was happily chosen, and 
affords no mean proof of the taste of these early chieftains. Nature 
has there so assembled and disposed of her choicest features of 
wood, and rock, and water, that they could derive or acquire but 
little aid from art to heighten the charms of the scene. The last con- 
siderable chief of the O’Cahans, being implicated in treasonable prac- 
tices with O’Neill and O’Donnell, early in the reign of James I., was 
seized, and his estates forfeited in the year 1607.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


23 


our threshold, was Brian dragged forth with oaths and curses, 
himself bleeding you’d think to death, from a wound he got in 
the scuffle. My prayers, and tears, and cries were useless — they 
would not so much as give him time to bid myself and the babe 
farewell — he could only look at us and point to the blue skv 

above as they tore him away That was the 

last we saw of him,” she added after a short pause, during which 
all held their breath to listen — even Judith dwelt on her mother’s 
words as though the tale she told was new to her ear. The old 
woman said not another word, but relapsing into her former stu- 
por, sat gazing as before on the dull, cheerless fire. 

“Like many another chieftain of our unhappy nation,” said 
Judith, taking up the sad tale, “ Brian O’Cahan died in prison — 
.the wound he got on that fatal day was never dressed, and 
that, with the other miseries he endured, put an end to his life 
within a month. He died, and left my mother and myself — I 
was then, as she has told you, but a few weeks old — to buffet our 
way through the world as best we could. By that time, our 
ancient dwelling was a ruin, battered and broken down by the 
fierce, strong, Scottish soldiers who were left to" work their 
wicked will on the poor conquered Catholics of Ulster ” 

Here a fierce ejaculation from the guide drew all eyes on him. 
He had started to his feet, and stood with his right hand clenched, 
his cheek and brow glowing crimson red, and his eyes glaring 
like those of a tiger. With his strong muscular proportions, he 
certainly looked a formidable object, but while the gentlemen 
regarded him in utter amazement, Judith, approaching him, laid 
her hand on his shoulder, and said in a soothing tone : 

“ Donogh, my poor boy ! what ails you 1” 

“ What ails me I” he repeated in a fierce, wild way, still with 
eyes fixed on the opposite wall, as though some cause for his agi- 
tation was there visible. “ Woman ! woman ! why ask me that V’ 
Suddenly recollecting himself, however, he added with a strong 
effort at self-control, and a sort of hysterical laugh that was 
painful to hear: “Oh then, nothing at all ails me, — nothing 
only a kind of an inward cramp that I take now and then — God 
help me ! isn’t it sure to come on me at the wrong time. I ask 
your pardon, noble gentlemen, especially the colonel there, and 


24 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


yours, daughter of O’Cahan — for the start I took out of you, 
and the unseemly hole I made in your story.” 

By some strange impulse, O’Neill and Judith exchanged 
glances, but neither made any remark on Donogh’s intrusive 
“ cramp.” Netterville, solely intent on the story, begged of Ju- 
dith to go on, muttering something at the same time not very 
flattering to the guide. The latter, although the words were in- 
audible, appeared to understand their import, for he instantly 
said, in a tone half ironical, half respectful : 

“ It was just such another cramp. Sir John, as the one that 
seized you at the battle of Kilrush, when that young friar ap- 
peared so suddenly before you, and was off again, like the shot 
of a gun, as I heard you tell Rory O’More.” 

“ You heard !” exclaimed Netterville, turning quickly on his 
seat, his cheek blanched with emotion ; “ in God’s name, who 
are you "I stay — now that I look at you — do you not belong to 
Sir Phelim’s army 1” 

“ To Sir Phelim’s army — O’Hanlon’s company — your honor is 
right !” 

“ Ay ! methinks I have seen you often in company with 
O’Neill’s right hand man, Shamus Beg, I think they call him !” 

“ Very likely,” said Donogh very coolly ; “ we often march to- 
gether — but that’s neither here nor there — the colonel wants to 
hear her ladyship’s story !” 

“ And the storm begins to subside,” said Judith, who had been 
to take a look at the weather, “ when it ceases, my tale ceases, 
too, so that I must needs make short work of what remains. 
Dungiven Castle being in ruins, as I said before, the wife and 
daughter of its owner were suffered to dwell unmolested within 
its roofless walls ; certain of our own people who had taken 
refuge from the fury of the soldiery in the woods around, came 
by night and formed a shelter for us, with the branches of trees, 
around one of the fireplaces in the former banqueting hall. 
These faithful followers, so long as they were suffered to remain 
in that neighborhood, took care that my poor mother was well 
provided with fire-wood, which they nightly placed within her 
reach, together with a share of such miserable food as they 
could procure for themselves. In fact, they watched over us 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


25 


with the tenderest care, and served us with even more devotion 
than if my mother were still mistress of Dungiven and Limavady.” 

“ I was mistress of Dungiven !” said the mother, looking round 
as before with her strange smile, “ I had it all to myself, and 
what more could I desire 

“ True for you, mother,” observed Judith, “ your power was 
absolute there, though you had only me, a little child, to rule. 
But the precious time is passing ; such was the place, and such 
the circumstances in which my earliest years were passed, and 
you may well imagine that in a scene so wild, so strange, so lonely, 
I grew up just as wild, and strange, and lonely — the child of 
nature, of solitude, and of sorrow. I need not tell you that one 
of the first impressions stamped upon my heart was hatred of 
English tyranny ” 

“ It were strange an’ it were otherwise,” said O’Neill, speak- 
ing almost for the first time j “ were it only your Rapparee* 
friends in the woods, they would teach you that. But how, or 
where, fair mistress, found you the stores of knowledge which, I 
see, so enrich your mind "I where learned you to discourse in 
such wise as now you do V' 

“ Ah !” sighed Judith with a sudden change of manner, “ that 
belongs to another portion of my story which were over long 
now to tell. Suffice it to say that for the little book-learning I 

* Long before the war of 1641, the scattered remains of the broken 
clans of Ulster, driven after the wars of Elizabeth’s and James’s 
time, into the woods and bogs for ‘refuge, were known by the names 
of Rapparees and Tories— outlawed and deprived, by the provident 
care of the British Government, of every means of support, they ne- 
cessarily lived by plunder. Made desperate by want and inspired by 
the burning thirst of revenge, they became a bold and reckless race, 
being formidable to the well-fed foreigners who were snugly located in 
their former holdings, and even the proud legions of England were 
made full often to feel the vengeful power of the despised Rapparee. 
During the whole of the eleven years’ war, which commenced in ’41, 
the Rapparees did good service at times to the Catholic army, 
harassing the enemy by a sort of guerrilla warfare which they carried 
on on their own account, but generally in connection with the confed- 
erate forces. 

12 


26 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


possess, I owe it to a loved friend and cousin, now, alas ! no 
more — I mean the Lady O’Neill, wife of Sir Phelim. By chance, 
she discovered us in our dismal dwelling, whose walls my mo- 
ther affected so much as to prefer their shelter even to that of a 
royal palace — and at first she would by no means consent to 
leave them, but the persuasions of that true friend were so ur- 
gent, and above all her representations as regarded me and the 
teaching I ought to have, that at last my poor mother gave her 
consent, and we both were taken by the Lady Nora to Kinnard 
Castle, where for twelve happy years we found a home. I was a 
tall young damsel of eighteen or thereabouts, when we first 
crossed the threshold of that house, knowing nothing of books, 
and little of the world ; I was thirty in years, and older still in 
mind and heart, when cruel death deprived us of our host 
friend and most dear benefactress — the Lady Nora died, and a 
few weeks after her death, we were again without a home — 
worse even than before,” she said, after a pause, and with a 
heightened color, she added, “ for even the shelter of our old 
ruin was no longer ours to enjoy.” 

“Why, how could that be'l” demanded Netterville ; “ did the 
government forbid you that, too V’ 

“ Nay, nay,” said Judith, “ the government took but little note 
of the existence of two poor helpless women such as we. Colonel 
O’Neill,” said she rising and pointing with a gesture of command 
down the long passage ; “ yonder is the clear sky again — the 
storm is past — need I remind you that time presses, and that 
many eyes are strained looking for your coming'? Depart in 
God’s name, though it ill becomes the daughter of O'Cahan to 
speed the traveller from her mother’s hearth !” 

“ You are right, lady,” said Owen with that calm dignity which 
belonged to him, “ you are right, and I thank you. One thing 
I would fain know, nevertheless, before I go hence ” 

“ And I,” said Netterville, in his gay, thoughtless way, “ will 
not stir a step from here till I have learned whether Sir Phelim 
turned you out of doors — or what — if he did, by the rood ! he shall 
answer for such black deed !” 

O’Neill’s deep, earnest eyes were on Judith at the moment, and 
she felt that they looked what the more reckless Norman had 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


27 


spoken in plain Irish. But Judith O’Cahan did not choose to af- 
ford further information. Drawing herself up with an air of dig- 
nity that made Netterville smile, whilst O’Neill thought it well 
became her, she said : 

“ I know not of any right you have. Sir John Netterville, to 
dive farther into our affairs than we choose to lay them open to 
you. I have told you all that I am willing to tell, — what remains 
could have no interest for you.” 

“Nay, Judith,” said the old woman, “as you have told so 
much, I would have you tell all. What shame is it to you or me 
that you cannot listen to Sir Phelim’s smooth speeches 1 This 
English gentleman asked if Sir Phelim turned us out of doors — 
not so, young sir, not so, — ^hut rather would he have kept us in 
his home for life. I were well content to have staid on his 
terms, for surely even O’Cahan’s daughter could not look higher 
than the lord of Tyr-Ovven, hut Judith closed her ears and her 
heart against him, and I besought her only to speak him fair for 
a while, and that mayhap either he would tire waiting, or she 
think better of the affair, but she told me she would rather die 
a thousand deaths than become Sir Phelim’s wife. What could 
I say after that, for my child’s happiness or misery is mine, too , 
so when the rough chieftain found she was in earnest in refusing 
to marry him, he stormed and swore, and said he would have her 
whether she liked it or not. We thought it was time to move, 
after that, so we left himself and his castle, and the ghost of my 
poor cousin Nora, Heaven be her bed ! that people said was 
haunting him every night of his life, and out we went again 
on the wide world to hide our heads wherever we could. Our own 
old place we dared not go to, for there Sir Phelim would be sure 
to find us, — if Judith was willing, I would have gone with her to 
some of the chieftains of our kindred and craved protection, but 
Judith would hear of no such thing, for she said it would but 
breed dissension amongst the chiefs when it most behoved them 
to keep together. It were ill rousing the lion from his lair, 

Judith says, or thrusting others within reach of his claws ” 

“ Mother ! mother !” cried Judith with sudden vehemence, 
“ wherefore speak in such wise of matters that were better buried 
in oblivion 7 Donogh, my good lad, bring the horses to the road.” 


28 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Donogh instantly vanished, and both the cavaliers standing up, 
prepared to resume their journey. There was a cloud on O’Neill’s 
brow, and a flush on his cheek that showed some strong inward 
emotion, but of what nature it was, none but himself might 
know. As for Netterville, he swore a good round oath that one 
day or another he would brand Sir Phelim with the disgrace of 
such unmanly persecution. 

“ Nay, Sir John !” once more put in Judith, “ I beseech you 
that you never upbraid him with it. My mother and I canmever 
forget that his roof gave us shelter and protection when few 
would dare to give us either, — for years long we eat his bread 
and were welcome guests at his hospitable board — it would 
shame me, too, to have my name so mentioned — and by stranger 
tongue ! — ^no ! no ! — if indeed you would befriend the friendless 
daughter of O’Cahan forget that you ever saw her — ever heard 
her hapless tale !’ 

“ She is right, my friend,” said O’Neill earnestly; “ any inter- 
ference of ours would but harm those we meant to serve. Come, 
let us go !” 

“ Not till I have heard,” said his mercurial companion, “ by 
what strange chance these ladies flxed on such a dwelling ” 

“It was not chance,” Judith replied, “ we had often heard Sir 
Phelim boast of the desert he had made of the English settle- 
ment, which he said had been a pestilent nest of Protestant 
bigotry and all manner of injustice towards the natives of the 
country for miles around who professed the old faith. Many a 
time and oft did we shudder at the picture he was wont to draw 
of its solitude and desolation, but we remembered it with joy and 
hope when forced to flee from Kinnard Castle and the land of 
Owen. Hither we came, like Noah’s dove, seeking rest for our 
wearied feet, and lo ! having found it, here we abide — buried, as 
it were, in a dreary tomb, yet still untrammeled by ties which 
were chains of burning iron — to one of us at least !” 

“ As for this noble dwelling,” said the mother, with a touch 
of sly humor little to be expected, “ it was not Sir Phelim that 
left it as it is — it was a Are that broke out in it some three years 
agone, — one fine summer’s evening when all the Protestant 
grandees for miles round were assembled in the large room 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


29 


which those Englishers called the ‘ best parlor.’ There was a 
grand young English lady from somewhere within the Pale on a 
visit here at the time ” 

“Good God!” cried Netterville, pale with emotion, and gasp- 
ing for breath, “ who was the owner of the house T’ 

“ It belonged to the Protestant minister,” said Judith, regard- 
ing the young man with a surprised look; “ it was what they call 
the manse or glebe-house.” 

“ And the young lady from the Pale I” 

“ She was, I believe, a beauty, and the daughter of a great 
man ” 

“ Ay ! great in wickedness, if in nothing else. I know all 
about him, — but can this be the house of which I have heard so 
muchl If so,” he added in an under tone, “ I marvel not at its 
desolation. But how say you, fair lady I — the noble damsel of 
whom you speak was, then, the sister, or rather I think you said, 
the niece, of Master Hatfield, the minister T’ 

“ Nay, I said not that,” said Judith with a quiet smile, “ but 
you say it, and of a surety you seem to know more about the 
matter than do I. For us, we might have taken little note of 
what fell out amongst the unneighborly Englishers, were it not 
for a heroic deed performed, on that occasion, by one of our 
own kin 1” 

“ Who was that I” said Netterville, speaking in an abstracted 
tone and manner. 

“ Our right noble kinsman, Maguire of Fermanagh. Passing 
the house with a few retainers just when the fire was at its 
height, and hearing the people crying on every side, that the 
fairest maiden in Leinster was still somewhere within the house, 
and must perish in the flames if not speedily rescued, Connor 
did but wait to learn from some of the company the spot where 
the lady was last seen, and, immediately darting in, he appeared 
almost in the twinkling of an eye, bearing in his arms the mo- 
tionless form of the English beauty wrapped in his heavy cloak. 
Amid the cheers and joyous shouts of the crowd of spectators, 
Maguire placed his fair burden in the arms of her rejoicing rela- 
tives. He had found her in that death-like swoon just within 
the door, where she had fallen in a fright and remained unno- 


30 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


ticed in the general confusion, when each thought only of self- 
preservation, and all who were so fortunate as to keep their 
senses, rushed in wild affright from the burning building. The 
brave chieftain had not himself escaped without some injury, 
but little recked he that the beauty of his brown silken tresses 
was gone, or that his face and neck were sadly scorched : so 
long as he had saved the lady from a cruel death he thought not 
of himself. To say the truth, the minister and all the rest were 
very thankful, and would have had Maguire go with them to one 
of the nearest houses to have dressing for his burns and other 
needful refreshment, but Connor had little liking for that com- 
pany, and would not by any means consent to tarry when once 
he perceived the lady coming to herself.” 

Both the gentlemen were about to speak, but the old woman 
was beforehand with them. “You forgot to tell Judith that his 
uncle Lorcan, who was with Connor, hurried him away as soon 
as the damsel opened her mouth to thank him.” 

‘ And why sol” demanded Netterville with strong emotion. 

“ Because he said there was that in her eyes that boded no 
good to one of his race. To make sure, he made the sign of the 
cross between Connor and the damsel, and after that, he had no 
more trouble ; the Maguire did his bidding like a little child. 
Well for the Clan Maguire that its chief had Lorcan at his elbow 
that day, for it took one like him that has knowledge from the 
other world to see aught of evil in so fair a form as they say 
that lady had.” 

Netterville was strangely agitated, and muttered unintelligible 
words to himself, as he looked around the dreary habitation. 
“ Thrice accursed walls !” were the only words that caught tho 
ear, and even so much was not meant to be heard, for the young 
man, as if recollecting himself, glanced around with nervous 
trepidation, then broke into a wild, unmeaning laugh. 

“By my faith, now, that is a pretty story,” said he with bois- 
terous gaiety ; “ ’twas a good beginning for my Lord Maguire, 
and, as the old saw says, a good beginning maketh a good end- 
ing. Yet, methinks, the lord of Enniskillen (which proud title 
I hear he did assume) hath not as yet much to boast of. Pity 
the rack and the dangeon should follow on so fair a track. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


31 


Noble ladies, deign to accept my poor thanks for your hospita- 
ble entertainment ” 

“Nay, speak not of it. Sir John!” said Judith with a lofty 
grace that sat as well upon her as though a royal roof covered 
her head ; “ an’ you mean what you say, your thanks are not duo 
to us but rather to the friendly shelter of these walls — an’ you 
speak derisively, I have but to say, that the poverty of your en- 
tertainment is not our fault, but our misfortune. Farewell, Sir 
John Netterville ! I have heard much of you from your friend 
and kinsman, Rory O’More, who hath much hope of you as 
a true champion of freedom — see that his hopes be not mis- 
placed, for, believe me, a dreary doom worse. Sir John, than 
even the rack or the dungeon, awaits the recreant who is false to 
his God ! adieu, young sir. Heaven speed you on your way !” 

So astonished was the Palesraan at the singular words and the 
still more singular manner of the speaker, that he left the place 
without further speech to any one, though his pale lips were still 
to be seen moving in commune with himself. His abrupt depar- 
ture was not unobseiwed by the ancient lady, whose dignity was 
sorely hurt by his omission of such parting salute as she deemed 
requisite. 

“ Times are strangely altered,” said she, “ when the grandson 
of Rufus Netterville deigns not to say farewell to Eveleen 
Maguire — see what it is, Judith, to be old and poor !” 

But her daughter was too much intent on other matters to 
notice either the manner of the knight’s departure or her mother’s 
offended dignity. The moment Netterville was out of sight, 
O’Neill anxiously inquired whether the Maguire referred to was 
the same who lay imprisoned in Dublin Castle. 

“The very same,” Judith replied; “you have heard, then, 
Colonel O’Neill, of what befell him and McMahon 

“ Surely I did, fair mistress,” and he smiled, “ nay, even to 
poor Costelloe’s unlucky attempt at caricaturing in the Justice’s 
hall. I was told, too, of the torture inflicted on both those gen- 
tlemen,” he added in a more serious tone, “ the which was not 
over pleasant to hear, but we of the conquered race are happily 
well exercised in the virtue of patience, and must needs pocket 


32 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


many things, which others would resent without a moment’s 
delay.” 

“ Can nothing he done,” said Judith anxiously, “ on behalf 
of those noble gentlemen— is there no way of effecting their 
release V* 

“ I know of none at the present moment,” O’Neill replied 
with habitual caution, “ but the chances of war piay perchance 
turn in their favor when we least expect it.” 

“ If you cannot assist them,” said Judith, “ their case is hope- 
less.” Looking up at the moment she saw a smile on the colo- 
nel’s face, which somehow brought a faint blush to her own pale 
cheek, and she quickly added in a more reserved tone, drawing 
back a step or two at the same time : 

“ This young Norman knight— pardon me, colonel, if I ask 
where he joined your company, or what you know of him T’ 

“ Surely you may ask,” said the colonel, regarding her with 
increasing surprise, “ although I be little used to be thus catechised 
by ladies. I was journeying hither alone from Doe Castle where, 
for the present, I have left my companions in arms — relying on 
my memory for safe conduct to Charlemont Castle, and when 
within a mile or so of entering this now desert region, I came 
up with this Netterville, as he was making inquiries of a tall 
peasant whom I took for an O’Dogherty, regarding the road 
hitherward. Both being clad in this treasonable fashion, as you 
see, we naturally exchanged a friendly greeting, followed by 
some cursory remarks on the weather and other such common- 
place matters, when, finding that our road lay in the same direc- 
tion, we agreed to travel together, the more willingly when we 
heard of the present state of this district. That was the first I 
ever saw of Sir John Netterville, or he of me, so far as I know.” 

“ Trust him not !” said Judith with startling vehemence ; “ he 
is fickle as the wind, or I much mistake, and there is a fearful 
' -fountain of hate welling up within him that may one day work 
evil to others besides its present object. See you not that he 
now hates Maguire — no one can toll, then, how soon that hatred 
may extend itself to all who are Maguire’s friends. Believe me, 
oh champion of the Gael 1 no man of his blood ever yet espoused 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


33 


in good faith the cause in which you are about to draw your 
sword.” 

“ Heaven grant you be not a prophetess, fair lady !” said 
O’Neill thoughtfully, as he took her hand with an air of profound 
respect ; “ much depend on these Palesmen at this hour, an’ they 
are but sincere in their present endeavors they may do good ser- 
vice — for me, I would fain believe them so — ^but — but — •” he 
stopped and hesitated. 

* “ Little said is soon mended,” put in Judith with a smile that 
lit up her pensive features; “God be with you, colonel,” she 
added still with the same bright look, as he shook her hand at 
parting, “ an’ we never meet again on earth, the memory of 
this hour shall be with us in our solitude, — ^that it was given us, 
poor and lonely women, to welcome Owen O'Neill to the land 
which, under God, he is commissioned to free, we shall ever es- 
teem as a signal vouchsafement from on high — go your ways now, 
in God’s name, and I pray you overlook the delay caused by my 
woman’s prattle ” 

“ Nay,” said the colonel gallantly, as he approached to take 
leave of the old lady ; “ nay, surely, I esteem not that delay 
unprofitable — much may it aid the cause hereafter — ay, marry, in 
more ways than one ! Wife of O’Cahan, fare you well ! In your 
prayers forget not Owen O’Neill or those who go up with him to 
battle for the right, and believe me your affairs shall not bo 
unremembered by me. More I say not now ! — farewell ! ’ and 
he turned to leave the vault when the sound of loud and angry 
voices on the outside made him stop to listen. 

“ Merciful Heaven !” cried Judith, “ it ig his voice ; oh ! mo- 
ther ! mother ! hear you that I” 

“ Child, I do,” said the aged parent, “ but I fear him not now — 
there be one present whom he must obey — fear not, daughter, for 
God himself taking pity on our misery, hath brought this meet- 
ing about.” 

Before the colonel could even ask what it all meant, a hoarse, 
mocking laugh re-echoed through the vault, the clank of heavily- 
ironed boots was heard approaching, and a man’s voice cursing 
the obscurity of the place. “ By my faith. Sir John Netterville,” 
added the grumbler, “there be no Norman of the Pale fit to 


34 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


stand between me and my liking ! ha ! ha ! a stripling, with 
scarce more than woman’s strength, to tell Sir Phelim O’Neill 
that he needs must do his bidding — an’ I had no mind to enter, 
foolish boy, I would see the matter out were it but to spite you.” 

“Sir Phelim, you shall answer for this!” cried Nettervillt- 
behind him in the passage. 

“ Answer 1 to be sure I will, whensoever you choose.” He sud- 
denly stopped, and the mocking laugh died away in his throat, 
for before him, full in the red torchlight, stood Owen O’Neill, his 
tall form drawn to its fullest height, and an angry frown knitting 
his brow. So unexpected was this apparition that the turbulent 
knight of Kinnard was struck dumb for a moment. Not even the 
sight of J udith and her mother, although his eye wandered to 
both, could draw ofi his spell-bound attention from the figure 
before him. 

“ Have I the honor of seeing Sir Phelim O’Neill 1” said the colo- 
nel in a keenly sarcastic tone, after the pair had eyed each other 
a few moments in silent scrutiny. 

“ Such is my name ; what may yours be P’ 

“ Somewhat like unto your own — I am Owen O’Neill.” 

“ I thought as much, for smooth though your face be, the 
seal of our race is on your brow, and its fiery spirit burning in 
your eye. Be you welcome 1” — and he reached out his hand 
which Owen took with an air of condescension that must have 
been galling to the pride of his overbearing kinsman — “ my errand 
abroad to-day was to give you a meeting, and conduct you to 
the presence of the chiefs assembled at Charlemont Castle. Good 
sooth, I little thought to find you like Achilles of old amongst 
the petticoats I As for the ladies” — there was a sneering em- 
phasis on the word — “ I marvel not to see them so located or in 
such a condition, for I know them to affect the company of owls 
and bats. Save you, good mother, and you, fair Judith I I’ faith, 
a goodly dwelling you have chosen — the minister’s, as I hope to 
eat my supper — ho ! ho 1 ho 1” 

“ Better the company of owls and bats than that of recreant 
knights,” said Judith proudly, “ and better a thousand times this 
desolate ruin and freedom than castle or bower and servile 
chains.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


35 


“ Well said, Judith,” quoth Sir Phelim, with another hurst of 
laughter; “you were ever glib with that tongue of yours — a 
pretty hen old madam is, and a dainty chicken you — good sooth, 
I much admire the flight you took and your wings cut so closely. 
I wish you joy of your liberty !” The ironical tone in which he 
spoke was not lost on his kinsman, nor yet the sinister look 
wherewith he regarded both mother and daughter, the latter 
especially. 

“ Sir Phelim O’Neill !” said Owen with the calm, mild dignity 
of a master-spirit, “ I much rejoice to meet you in this presence. 
This young gentleman and I,” pointing to Netterville, who stood 
by in sullen silence, “being obliged by the storm to take shelter 
here, heard with amazement, and, I must say, with indignation, 
(towards whom you may guess !) the story of these ladies’ 
wrongs. I now wish you to understand that henceforward I will 
have my eye on them — mark my words. Sir Phelim ! — and the 
man who dares insult their poverty, be he friend or foe, shall 
answer to me for the outrage. Nay, no blustering, cousin mine,” 
seeing that Sir Phelim was getting up a display of passion. “ I 
am not the man to be bullied — swaggering will not do with me. 
I am willing to forget what is past, in this matter, but only on 
condition that you leave these ladies free to do as they list.” 

“ By the soul of Heremon !” said Sir Phelim, in a tone of 
affected good humor, “ you make over free for the length of our 
acquaintance. Who made you the champion of these ladies 

“ My knightly honor,” rejoined Owen, “ and the fame and 
honor of our liouse — also my respect for the memory of a brave 
and imfortunate chieftain. But here we may not longer tarry— 
I have told you my mind on this head, and as you value my good 
will see that you keep it in mind !” 

Sir Phelim nodded a sort of assent, and glancing furtively at 
Judith, said as he turned to lead the way out: “ No need for all 
this pother — the birds are not worth the trouble of catching 
them. Good betide you, noble dames, for all Sir Phelim O’Neill 
cares ; ye may wed these two so valorous knights when ye list, 
ay, the precious pair of you !” 

“ Lead on !” said Owen sternly ; “ no jesting at our expense- 
nay, Sir John, heed not his idle words — ^lead on, Sir Phelim— 


36 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


1 


we follow.” The knight saw fit to obey in silence, and the other 
gentlemen having once more exchanged a parting salute with 
the recluses, all three sallied forth into the clear sunlight, where 
a party of Sir Phelim’s followers were in waiting. The cheers 
wherewith they greeted the appearance of Owen Roe O’Neill 
made the desolate valley ring, and sent a thrill of joy through 
the heart that seemed cold and passionless. 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


37 


CHAPTER. III. 

“No! when tho battle rages dire, 

And the roused soul is all on fire, 

Think’st thou a noble heart can stay 
Hate’s rancorous inpulse to obey 7” 

Mrs. Holford’s Margaret of Anjou. 

“ What shall he be ere night 7 Perchance a thing 
O’er which the raven flaps his funeral wing!’* 

Cyron’s Corsair. 

It was three months before the date of the events recorded in 
our last chapter, when the long dreary season of winter had 
passed away, and spring-time gladdened the earth, sending the 
rills and rivulets laughing on their way, and making the woods 
and meadows vocal with the song of birds. The cuckoo, “ har- 
binger of spring,” made the woods of Garrick resound with her 
one welcome note, and the lovely Suir was more radiant even 
than its wont in silver sheen bedight. All without and around 
the ancient castle of the Butlers was bright and balmy, fresh 
and fragrant as the April day could make it, and the day was 
the loveliest of the season, just such another as queer, quaint old 
Herbert lovingly eulogizes : 

“Sw 0 jt day, so cool, so calm, so bright. 

The bridal of the earth and sky,” 

yet, for all the beauty of the outward scene, there was little of 
joy or “ sweet content” within that lordly dwelling. The Count- 
ess sat with her infant daughter in her arms — in those good old 
times even a Countess thought it nowise vulgar to be seen with 
her children on her right honorable knee or even clasped in her 


38 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


jewelleJ arms — so the Countess sat with her infant on her knee 
at an open window, and although her eyes wandered at times 
over the fair scene without, it was not that she enjoyed its beauty, 
or dwelt upon its charms. Deep sadness was seated on her lofty 
brow, and albeit that Elizabeth of Ormond was not much given 
to the “ melting mood,” a close observer, had there been any 
such, might have noticed a tear now and then stealing down her 
cheek as she bent over the slumbering babe on whoso face she 
gazed so fondly. And wherefore was the noble lady sad on that 
bright spring morning when all nature was glad 'I Alas ! she 
deemed her dejection not without cause, for she knew that the 
dawn of that fair day had seen her lord set out from Dublin with 
a gallant army to Avage war against the Confederate forces of 
Leinster. Whatever Ormond might be unto others, to her, at 
least, and to his children, he was all that a husband and father 
ought to be, and dreary was the void which his absence ever left 
in the domestic circle. But what was the tedium, the weariness 
of absence to the heart- wearing fears of a soldier’s Avife Avhen 
her husband went forth 

“ To the wars, to the red field of fight,” 

where death was certain to many and escape to none. What 
though helm and plume, and pennon gay, and the tramp of war- 
like men made a gallant show as Ormond’s army moved along, 
or that Ormond himself waved the proudest plume and wore tho 
noblest mien — ^it mattered not to the loving and pitying heart of 
Elizabeth, for her eyes were not gladdened by the proud array, 
while her soul was full of the bitter thought that the stately 
form of her husband might at any moment be struck down by 
the rude pike of some low-born hind. And to do the Countess 
justice we needs must tell that her sorrow Avas not altogether of 
a selfish nature. Her sympathies Avere still in great part with 
the Catholics struggling for their rights, and she wished that 
Ormond had not been sent on what she justly considered a mis- 
sion of destruction. 

” Alas ! alas !” sighed the lady, “ that a heart so generous as 
Ormond’s to all besides should be so hard and pitiless in regard 
to the Catholics ! — child ! child !” and again her tears fell on tho 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


89 


infant’s face, “ to think that your father should be made to 
play the part of a Coote, an Inchiquin, and a Broghill ! Oh ! 
woe is me, that his children should inherit the curse of an op- 
pressed nation ! — ^what, Emmeline ! are there tidings so soon 'i — ■ 
you seem excited.” 

“ No tidings from the Earl, madam, that I know of,” said the 
person thus addressed, a pale but very lovely girl who had just 
entered the room in what appeared no small trepidation. 

“ From whom, or where, then demanded the Countess with 
a searching glance at her pallid face ; “ some news I read on 
that tell-tale face — out with it, pretty one ! be it what it may ! — 
stay — ^let me look at you — tell me, Emmeline ! have you heard 
from Dublin T’ 

That have I not,” the fair girl replied, “the news concerns 
us all — not as your ladyship seems to suppose, only myself. 
Prepare yourself, madam, to hear what I would that other lips 
than mine had to tell.” 

Hearing this the Countess laughed. “ Why, lady-bird, an’ the 
news affects not my absent lord, nor another whose name we 
name not, how can it concern us all 1” 

“ Think a moment, gracious madam ! and your keen wit may 
remind you of other dangers to be apprehended now even by 
ourselves !” 

“ Great God ! you cannot mean the approach of the — of the 
rebels 1 — speak, Emmeline, — do you mean that and firm and 
self-possessed as the Countess usually was, she turned pale and 
actually trembled. 

“ Madam, I do mean that,” the girl replied ; “ little as we 
looked for their coming, it appears they are close at hand. 
Hearing, I suppose, of your lord’s departure from Dublin this 
morning on the Leinster campaign, they have taken it into their 
thick heads to be even with him, by revenging themselves on 
liis family and the walls of his castle. Truly, such a barbarous 
device well becomes traitorous rebels! But your ladyship is 
^ faint. I pray you summon up that high courage which I know 
you to possess — let me summon your attendants — nay, madam 
it may yet be possible to escape 1” 

“ Not so, Emmeline, not so, — there is none — none— wonc — ^my 




40 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


heart tells me we are all to perish — or worse — worse — and you, 
too, daughter of my dearest friend ! that you should be here to 
share our wretched fate—” 

“But, madam, they will not, perchance, dare ” 

“ I tell you they will dare all — too glad to revenge themselves 
on James Butler whom they look upon with deadlier hate as a 
renegade from their religion ! Heavens above ! they are in the 
park — they surround the house even now ! Emmeline ! go you 
to my children — gather them together, with all the women of 
the household, and I will join you anon when I have conferred 
with the captain of the guard.” 

Some half dozen of terrified female domestics, now rushed 
nnbi:lden to their lady’s presence, bemoaning the sad fate which 
a.vaited them, and refusing to believe that escape of any kind 
was still possible. A few words of stern command from the 
Countess had the effect of stopping their clamor, at least, and 
with an assurance that all hope was not yet lost, she dismissed 
them with the infant to join the general assembly of the house- 
hold convoked by her orders. Emmeline still lingered, and the 
Countess, forgetful of her previous request, seemed desirous to 
have her remain. 

“ Could we but see any of their leaders,” said the Countess 
anxiously, as she moved somewhat nearer one of the windows, 
“ we might the better guess what awaits us ; who, think you, are 
they V' 

“ One of them I know, at least,” said the fair Emmeline from 
the recess of another window ; “ sees not your ladyship the But- 
ler arms on yonder flag V* 

“ Child, you are right,” said the Countess, and she drew a long 
breath like one much relieved ; “ Mountgaret is there — oh ! re- 
creant scion of the Butlers !” 

The door of the apartment just then opened, and a message 
was delivered from the officer in command of the garrison re- 
questing permission to speak with her ladyship. 

“ I was just going in search of you. Captain Jameson,” said 
the Countess with a condescending bow, “ with a view to ascer- 
tain whether it were possible to hold the Castle against yonder 
rebels. I fear me much that from an over sense of security, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


41 


still more than his frequent absence, my lord the Earl hath not 
given due attention of late to the defences of the house. How 
is it, Captain 'I Be the chances for or against us 

“ Against \is, madam, as far as I am able to judge,” returned the 
gentlemanly oflBcer, the same whom we have seen retiring from 
the service in disgust because of the wanton cruelties of Coote. 

My good lord hath, as you say, somewhat neglected the afihirs 
of the garrison, notwithstanding that I made bold to remind him 
by letter of the same more than once or twice. Having the de- 
fence of the kingdom in hand, it is little wonder if he forgot to 
examine into the capabilities of this his noble Castle for sustain- 
ing a siege.” 

“ He deemed it nowise likely,” said the Countess, “that the 
rebels should make such head here in Munster under the eye of 
stout St. Leger, but, wo is me ! that his wonted prudence should 
fail in such wise, knowing that the chief lords of the country 
are now in open rebellion — know you the strength of the enemy, 
Captain V* 

“ That I have not been able as yet to ascertain, madam, but I 
should judge it to be considerable since they make bold to at- 
tack this Castle of Carrick, and likewise from the officers of dis- 
tinction whom I see with them.” 

Here the trumpet sounded for a parley, and Captain Jameson 
hastened to the ramparts. During his short absence. Lady Or- 
mond went to see her children, and calm their infant fears, 
excited to agony by the senseless ravings of their English attend- 
ants, to whose terror-stricken fancy the clansmen of Munster 
assumed the proportions and almost the propensities of the giants 
of nursery lore. Leaving the Countess to reassure the frighten- 
ened children, and equally frightened domestics, as best she 
might, in the presence of the awful fact that “ Mountgarret’s 
men” were in untold numbers round the house, let us return to 
the fair Emmeline thus left alone. 

During the brief colloquy between the Countess and Captain 
Jameson the young lady had kept her station in the window, 
watching intently the movements of the besiegers. All unnoticed 
by her were the furtive glances of admiration sent in her direc- 
tion by the Captain, who was not unknown to her, although it 


42 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


happened that she wa^ to him. Whatever her thoughts might 
have been, she kept them to herself, but no sooner had Lady 
Ormond left the room, than she began to commune with herself 
in a half audible tone. 

“ Of a surety, an’ the Castle be taken, as I much fear it will, 
for I see they have no lack of cannon or aught that is needful 
— an’ the place be taken, my presence here might make it go 
hard with the Countess and her dear children. Whatsoever treat- 
ment they may have a mind to give to Lord Onnond’s family, 
mercy I could not look for at their hands. And yet” — her beau- 
tiful face brightened for a moment, but the ray of light passed 
quickly away — “ few there are among their motley host like 
unto him. No! no 1 I will not, cannot risk the chance of draw- 
ing deadlier vengeance on my honored friend and her helpless 
children. But how — ^how — to escape unseen! Try it I must, 
however, relying on God’s assistance. Now for a disguise — God 
direct me which to choose !” 

Meanwhile the Castle had been summoned to surrender in the 
name of the Catholic army of Munster, to which Jameson replied, 
as a brave officer should, that if they desired to have it they 
must take it, for given up willingly it never should be — so loug 
as a man remained to defend it. 

“ Then you are willing to expose Lady Ormond and her family 
to the dangers of a siege 7” said an officer, evidently of rank, 
who, with a herald bearing a white flag, approached within ear- 
shot. 

“ The Countess is much beholden to you, for your kind consi- 
deration,” made answer Captain Jameson, with cool irony, “ but 
she prefers rather to run such risk, trusting to the strength of 
these walls, than to——” 

“ To what T’ demanded the Irish officer sternly ; “ I am ready 
to pledge my word of honor that in case you give up the castle 
quietly, her ladyship and every member of her household shall 
have safe convoy to Dublin or wheresoever she may please to ’ 
appoint. An’ you rashly resolve to hold out, the consequences 
bo on your own head. We are not ignorant, as you may 
suppose, of your actual strength, and are, therefore, not to be 
deceived by idle boasting. Our strength you see, or rather you 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


43 


do not see its full extent, but, believe me, it is more than suffi- 
cient to take Carrick Castle — ay ! even were^ Ormond himself of 
the garrison ” 

Jameson’s practised eye was not slow to perceive that this at 
least was no idle boast, for no one knew better than he that the 
strength of the building was more apparent than real. Had not 
the safety of Lady Ormond and her children been in question, he 
might have ventured to hold out in hopes of succor, but the 
stake was too heavy to be risked on his own responsibility, and 
he felt that under the circumstances, it was his painful duty to 
capitulate. The Countess was of the same opinion, notwithstand- 
ing her unwillingness to have it told that Ormond’s Castle was 
in the hands of the rebels. Charged with full power to capitu- 
late in the name of Lady Ormond, the captain returned to the 
ramparts. The herald still waited without, and the officer who 
had before spoken, immediately rode up, accompanied by two 
others. 

“ Before the noble Countess of Ormond can entertain any pro- 
posals,” said Captain Jameson, “ she desires to know whose word 
it is that she has to depend upon for safety and protection !” 

“ I had thought,” returned the ofiicer proudly, “ that yonder 
heraldic device,” pointing to the flag already noticed by those 
within the castle, “had sufficiently informed the wife of James 
Butler. An’ she needs must have a name, teU her it is Colonel 
Edmund Butler who commands these forces — ^being so little in- 
formed on the subject,” he added, in a sarcastic tone, “ Lady Or- 
mond may require to be told that Lord Mountgarret is my father 
— and — I am his son ! — she will, I hope, deem my plighted word 
sufficient security — ^but, hark you ! sir, we are somewhat pressed 
for time, and must be so far wanting in courtesy as to demand a 
speedy answer !” 

In a very few minutes the Captain returned with a definitive 
answer that Elizabeth of Ormond was well content to trust in the 
honor and good faith of her much-esteemed cousin. Colonel But- 
ler, whose proposal she would willingly accept, hoping that in 
his hands the castle should sustain as little injury as might be. 

The Colonel was only too happy to take charge of the place 
on such terms, “ although,” as he jocularly remarked to Lord 


44 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Skerrin who was with him at the moment, “ my fair kinswoman 
may make her mind easy on that head, inasmuch as, with God’s 
help, the care of the house shall never more rest on her should- 
ers — her much-esteemed cousin ! — ^ha ! ha ! truly, the noble Coun- 
tess hath small cause to esteem any of our house at this present, 
seeing that my father hath taken her castle of Kilkenny, and 
his son her castle of Garrick ! Fitzpatrick !” to a young lieuten- 
ant near him, “ have the goodness to see what is going forward 
around yonder postern ! our men seem in a sort of commotion 
there. Stay, I will e’en see for myself.” 

Before the Colonel had reached the sally port, he was met 
by some of his own men with a prisoner wnom they had taken 
lurking in the shade of the walls, and who craved speech of the 
Irish commander. 

“ He is a retainer of the house,” said one of the soldiers in 
Irish. 

“ So I perceive,” said the Colonel,” but what is your business 
out, good fellow “I” 

“ That will I tell your noble lordship full quickly,” replied the 
Ormond servitor in a voice trembling either with fear or some 
other emotion, an’ you grant me a private hearing — I like not 
the looks of these followers oi yours, and what I have to say 
may not reach their ears !” 

“ A deserter, by St. Bridget's girdle !” said Fitzpatrick aloud to 
a brother officer, and the word went round from man to man 
with a boisterous roar of merriment, as the stout clansmen 
of Munster and the equally stout Normans of the Pale eyed 
with contempt the fragile and drooping form of the youthful 
prisoner. 

There was something in the tone and manner of the lad which 
attracted the Colonel’s attention, and perhaps excited his suspi- 
cions, so, telling the same party wno had taken him to follow at 
a little distance, he dismounted and led the way to where a 
clump of trees screened them from observation. 

“Speak on now — I listen!” said the Colonel, “but first I 
would see your face.” 

“You would know me none the better, though you saw it. 
You suspect some disguise, and you are right— I am not what I 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


45 


seem, but rather a distressed damsel coming to claim the knight- 
ly protection of Colonel Butler !” 

“ An’ you come from within the Castle,” said the oflScer with 
a polite bow, trying at the same time to catch a glimpse of the 
face under the slouched hat, “ an’ you come from within the 
Castle, fair lady, you might surely have spared yourself this trou- 
ble, seeing that my ‘ knightly protection,’ as you say, is already 
pledged for the safety of the female inmates ” 

“ It is well, and I joy to hear it, Colonel,” said the lady, “ but 
unhappily I have reason to fear that my presence, if known to 
your people, would endanger the safety of which you speak — 
hence it is that I am here.’' 

“ Who, in God’s name, are you then V' cried the Colonel in 
surprise, “ that you hold yourself beyond the pale of Irish honor 
or generosity I” 

Drawing a step or two nearer, so as to lessen the chances of 
being overheard, Emmeline — for she it was — gave her name and 
parentage in full. 

Colonel Butler heard her with a blanched cheek and an omin- 
ous start. “ By our Lady ! but that alters the matter !” — he said 
Muth a thoughtful air — “ I marvel not that you feared to fall into 
the hands of Catholic soldiers. The knowledge of your lineage 
might tempt them sorely, but as God liveth, lady, they would not 
harm you — no, not even your father’s daughter.” 

“ Still I would rather not trust them. Colonel !’* 

“ I tell you,” said the chivalrous Butler, somewhat nettled at 
her want of confidence, “ I tell you, fair mistress ! there is not a 
man in yonder force, that would harm a hair of your head, were 
I even to tell them who you are, if so be that they knew you had 
thrown yourself on us for protection.” 

“ I implore you. Colonel Butler, put them not to what they 
might deem so hard a test ” 

“ How would you have me dispose of you,” interrupted the 
Colonel — “ I see my presence is again required — lady, speak your 
wishes !” 

“ An’ it so please you, gallant sir, I would be sent to the nun- 
nery in the town within, until such time as I can safely be con- 
veyed to Dublin.” 


46 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEPTAINS. 


“ That is just where I purpose placing the Countess and her 
family,” said the Colonel, “ until I have heard from my lord or 
Ormond. I pray you excuse me for a moment !” Calling to one 
of the men whom he had stationed near, he desked that Sir John 
Netterville might come to him. The message had hardly time 
to be delivered when that young officer made his appearance, 
with a gay : “ What would you. Colonel T’ 

“lam about to honor you with a mission of trust. Sir John,” 
the Colonel replied with a good-humored smile. Lowering his 
voice almost to a whisper, he told him : “You are to convey this 
prisoner without loss of time to the convent in Carrick. Take 
a small party with you for escort — or stay — yourself will be 
quite sufficient with one attendant to bring back the horse we 
send with the prisoner — there be little danger of a rescue — ha ! 
ha ! ha ! — you understand me, I hope !” 

“ Not over well, Colonel, but your bidding shall be done. By 
my faith, though, the errand is not so honorable as you would 
have me believe — at least, on the face of it !” And he glanced 
with a humorous eye at the somewhat shabby exterior of the 
serving-man of the house of Ormond whom he, a knight and a 
noble, was ordered to escort. A horse was quickly prepared for 
the prisoner, and, to the no small amusement of his brother offi- 
cers, Netterville trotted off as his guard to the town. 

To say the truth the young noble was not altogether pleased 
at being selected for what seemed so ridiculous a mission, and, 
to the great satisfaction of his charge, he spoke not a word dur- 
ing their brief journey. When the old bridge was passed, and 
great part of the main street of the town, the knight drew up at 
the gate of the convent, on the corner of one of the cross streets, 
and then it was that his prisoner raised the slouched hat and 
disclosed to his astonished escort features indelibly engraved 
in his heart. 

“Now, Sir John Netterville,” said the lady wdth a bright blush 
on her delicate cheek, “ now, you can claim admission for me. 
I own it did seem rather foolish, esccrting a lacquey of the house 
of Ormond to a convent for protection, but now I hope you are 
satisfied that Colonel Butler really meant to pay you a compli- 
ment. For my own part, I am much beholden to you— indeed, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


47 


Sir John, I am — and would to God I might in anyway contribute 
to make you ha^py — hut that the fates have forbidden ! — fare 
you well ! Sir John Netterville ! my father himself may one day 
thank you for this most signal service !” 

“ Great Heavens ! is it you then — you, Emmeline — whom I have 
had near me so long ! — cruel as you are, you will not go without 
telling me what this means — nay, I implore you, tell me ! — alas ! 
how little dreamed I that yonder castle of the Butlers held so 
rich a prize ! But tell me why this secret departure— why this 
base disguised” 

In very few words Emmeline explained, and by that time the 
aged portress had hobbled to the door, asking through a small 
grating who waited without. Being told that a lady was there 
for whom Colonel Edmund Butler demanded shelter and protec- 
tion, the venerable dame waddled away again, but returned in a 
few moments with a message that the reverend mother was only 
too happy to oblige Colonel Butler. The key grated in the rusty 
lock, and Emmeline threw herself lightly from the horse, and 
after exchanging a friendly farewell with the knight, stepped 
across the threshold, forgetful of her disguise. It was only 
when reminded of it by the old woman’s exclamation of surprise, 
that she unbuckled her girdle with a smile, and the borrowed 
feathers falling oflf, she stood before the guardian of the gate in 
a rich but sober female costume. A grunt of satisfaction escaped 
the lips of the fat portress, as she closed the door on the young 
knight, and shut in, it might be, for ever from his eyes, the 
graceful form of Emmeline, the long and vainly loved. 

Two hours after, Carrick Castle was delivered to the Confeder- 
ate force, the Countess of Ormond, her children and servants, 
sent for the present to the Convent, over which a strong guard 
was placed, and the garrison permitted to march out in good order 
and betake themselves whither they listed. 

Messengers were instantly dispatched by Colonel Butler to 
Lord Ormond acquainting him with what had taken place, and 
desiring to know whither he would have his family conveyed. 
It was the evening of the following day when Lieutenant Fitz- 
patrick returned with the answer to the Castle, now the head- 
quarters of the Confederates in that section of the country. 


48 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Lord Ormondj he said, when he did, at length, overtake him, 
refused to receive -Colonel Butler’s epistle, alleging that he could 
hold no communication with rebels. Nettled at this, the reckless 
young officer told him very blur).tiy what had happened, asking 
in an ironical tone whether his lordship would condescend, after 
that, to read the Colonel’s letter. 

“ Not on any account,” was the answer, which the Earl took 
care should be heard by many of his officers ; “ my wife and 
family are in God’s keeping, and even for their sakes, I may not 
encourage rebellion by holding written communication with 
them.” 

“ This is your lordship’s final answer 
“ It is, so help me Heaven !” 

“ Let me tell you, then, my lord earl,” returned the hot- 
blooded young Ossory man, “ you may reckon over much on 
Colonel Butler’s generosity and forbearance. Sending such an 
answer you surely must forget the number of blackened walls 
and ruined homesteads which mark your track !” 

“What said the Earl to that I” demanded the Colonel with 
ominous composur-e. 

“ lie said I would do well to keep my tongue from wagging so 
glibly, and bade me to be thankful that I was suffered to escape 
with impunity; commanding mo at the same time to quit his 
presence instantly, a command which I had no temptation to re- 
sist, knowing that you were anxiously awaiting an answer.” 

Colonel Butler, although some years younger than his kins- 
man, Ormond, was not without a share of Ormond’s prudence, 
so that when questioned by Lord Skerrin and others of the offi- 
cers as to what he purposed doing, he merely answered that his 
mind was not yet made up. Early next morning, however, he 
repaired in person to the Convent, and having told the Countess 
of her husband’s heartless conduct, he ended by saying : 

“Your ladyship and all those of your company, are, however, 
free, — free to go where and when you will. We, at least, war not 
against women and children.” 

“ Colonel Butler,” said the Countess with much emotion, 
“ Elizabeth of Ormond thanks you, and will be mindful of your 
gemuosity while her heart continues to beat.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


49 


. “ Oh recreant scion of the Butlers !” said Emmeline softly at 
her elbow, and the arch girl shook her finger playfully in the 
face of her noble friend, “ even recreants, you see, are at times 
exceeding useful!” Then aloud, she, too, tendered her best 
thanks to the Colonel. 

Half an hour after that. Lady Ormond with her young friend, 
her children and servants, were journeying rapidly towards 
Dublin, escorted by a troop of Irish cavalry. What thoughts 
coursed each other through the mind of those two Protestant ladies 
as they travelled in safety under such protection the reader may 
easily imagine. 

Four weeks had barely passed away after the taking of Car- 
rick Castle, when Emmeline and her mother were summoned 
from a saloon of Dublin Castle, crowded with the beauty and 
fashion of the metropolis, to receive, at their own gate, a mourn- 
ful cortege, bearing home the body of the husband and father 
from the scene of his tragic end — a tyrant even in his own 
family, the man had not one fond heart to mourn his loss, yet 
the manner of his death was so awfully sudden, and the tidings 
came so unxexpectedly, that all were filled with horror, if not 
with grief. The pale sorrow-worn wife, however, wdio might 
weU have considered his death a boon, could not help remember- 
ing with a softening heart the thirty odd years they had past 
together, and the sunny days of her early married life ere the 
pursuit of arms had developed the latent cruelty of her consort, 
and made his heart hard to all human pity. His two sons, men 
of strong robust frame and iron will like their father, were too 
fully imbued with his spirit not to feel a burning thirst for 
revenge, and (if that were possible) a deadlier hatred of the 
already detested Catholics. Such were the varied feelings of 
the mother and her sons, but for Emmeline, the only daughter 
of that house, what she felt was not so easily defined, and more- 
over it lay farther beneath the surface. 

It was a strange sight to see the stately matron and her beau- 
tiful daughter receiving that grisly corpse; they radiant with 
jewels and floating, as it were, in a mist of rich lace and gauzy 
silk,* the dead wrapped in his bloody war-cloak, his grey locks 

* Wa are told by Walker, quoting an English author, that the 
13 


50 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

matted with gore. His sons, too, in their brilliant court-uni- 
form, presented a strange contrast with him whom they had so 
often followed to victory, as they stood there side by side with 
folded arms and knitted brows looking sternly down on the 
unsightly form before them. Oh ! it was a strange scene, a 
sad and solemn scene, its awful silence seldom broken by word 
or groan, or sigh. Passion was at work under various forms in 
the depth of every heart, but its workings were kept far down 
below the surface by the stem strong will that governed each. 

It was night when the corpse was brought home, and accord- 
ing to the custom of those people then, as now, it was laid out 
in solemn lonely state in one of the principal apartments, with 
two great wax tapers at the head and two more at the feet. At 
the lonely hour of midnight, when the weary watchers in the 
ante-room were fast asleep, Emmeline stood like a white-robed 
spirit by the couch of death, her pale face looking paler still 
under the long tresses of fair silky hair which hung over her 
shoulders in wild disorder. Her eyes were stony and fixed as 
those of a statue, and her clasped hands rested against her 
bosom — the whole figure motionless and silent as though no 
breath of life warmed the heart within. 

At last the beautiful lips parted and a sigh, a deep-drawn sigh, 
came forth, and another moment’s pause, and Emmeline spoke 
in a low murmuring voice like the whisper of ocean-shells : 

“ Fatner, blame mo not if my words were prophetic ! — ^thou 
knowest, oh ! author of my days ! that it was a fiendish act, and 
the groans of his anguish rent my heart asunder — but still — still 
— I was wrong — oh ! how wrong to speak such bitter words fot 
a father’s ear ! — alas ! alas ! I deemea not then that the dark 
hour was so near at hand ! God pity you, my father, as you lie 
there with a mountain weight of blood upon your soul and the 
curses of so many widows and orphans ringing on the midnight 


Irish court-dress of that day was peculiarly rich and even splendid ! 
“ Here,” says Howell, the writer in question, ” here is a most splendid 
court kept at the Castle, and except that of the Viceroy of Naples, I 
have not seen the like in Christendom. — Walker on the dress of the 
Irish, p. 60. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


51 


air around you ! We loved not, oh father ! thou wouldst not 
have us love thee, but oh ! my heart is breaking with the thought 
that I — I thy only daughter — did as it were. evoke this untimely 
end ! To my dying day I shall have this dismal sight before 
mine eyes, as the heart-wrung groans of one too well beloved are 
ever in my ear — oh ! that eye could see or ear could hear no 
more !— oh ! that this heart were as cold and pulseless as thine 
now is ! But, great God, who visiteth the sins of the fathers on 
their children, I must e’en wait till thy rigorous justice hath 
been satisfied in my regard ! Father ! farewell ! if it afibrd thy 
vengeful spirit aught of consolation, know that the daughter who 
gave thy paternal heart such a deadly wound is as miserable as 
even thou couldst wish !” 

Stooping down she kissed the ghastly brow of the sleeper, 
and muttering to herself, “ I might not, dare not, would not kiss 
him thus, were he not dead — dead !” She glided again through 
the ante-room, where the hired watchers still slumbered on, and 
unseen, unheard, reached her own apartments just as a fierce gust 
of wind shook the doors and windows of the old house. All that 
night the wild storm howled without, moaning dismally in the 
passages and wide chimneys, and making all within the house to 
shudder. It seemed as if legions of tortured ghosts were keep- 
ing watch and ward over that lifeless body, shrieking for ven- 
geance on the parted soul — and little wonder if they were in 
shadowy crowds around, for it was Sir Charles Coote that lay 
there dead !* 

* The ancient town of Trim was, as Carte quaintly observes, “ the 
tragic stage whereon he (Coote) acted his last part.” Brewer, in his 
Beauties of Ireland^ gives the following account of the death of Coote : 
” Whilst the town was possessed by the parliamentary party, iu 1642, 
it became the scone of a skirmish that proved fatal to Sir Charles 
Coote, of ensanguined memory. The Irish beset the town, at the 
break of day, in a tumultuous party, said to have been 3,000 strong. 
Sir Charles, on the first alarm, issued from the gate, at the head of a 
few horse soldiers, leaving others to follow as quickly as they could 
muster. In the charge which he made upon the assailants, Coote was 
shot dead, and it was thought that the ball was discharged by one of 
his own troopers.” 


52 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


• CHAPTER IV. 

“Oh heaven ! he cried, my bleeding cDnntry save! 

Is there no arm on high to shield the brave 7 
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, 

Rise, fellow-men I our country yet remains I 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high 
And swear with her to live — with her to die ! ’ 

Campbell’s Pleasures of Hope. 

On tho 10th day of May, just three days after the tragical 
end of Sir Charles Coote, the patriot prelates of Ireland, with 
very few exceptions, came together by previous appointment in 
the ancient city of the Butlers, to deliberate with such of the 
lay-lords as could conveniently be present, on the affairs of the 
pending struggle. After many days of calm and prayerful deli- 
beration, during which divers wise rules and regulations were 
devised and ordained, a solemn scene took place in the old Ca- 
thedral Church of St. Canice, when all the lords, temporal and 
spiritual, and all the Catholic knights and gentlemen then within 
the city, assembled by appointment to take the oath of associa- 
tion, drawn up by the bishops as a bond of union between the 
so-long conflicting races now embarkiug in the same glorious 
cause. 

It was evening, and the last beams of the setting sun were re- 
flected in all the colors of the rainbow in diagonal lines verg- 
ing towards the high altar from the richly-stained windows facing 
westward. “ The young May moon,” dimly visible in the azure 
Armament, waited but the withdrawal of the more brilliant lumi- 
nary to shed in her mild rays on the tesselated pavement and the 
time-worn walls, and the solemn assembly of the holy, the 
brave, and the noble. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


53 


Many tapers were burning on and around the grand altar, vo- 
tive offerings from the knights and nobles present to Our Lady 
and good St. Canice; and their light fell on the calm, collected 
features of the bishops and other dignitaries of the Church as 
they occupied the stalls and benches of the chancel. Without 
the rood-screen in the spacious nave, stood a crowd of the noblest 
and bravest of the land, most of them men of Norman blood, 
for the summons to take the oath had not as yet reached the Irish 
country, whereas Kilkenny being one of the chief cities of the 
Pale, its Catholic lords and gentry were there in numbers. Al- 
most the only noble of Irish extraction present was Lord Mus- 
kerry, but of the spiritual lords, the highest dignitaries were of 
the old blood, although very many of the inferior ordera of the 
clergy were of English extraction. But there was one Irish 
chieftain present, who might well look with a swelling heart on 
that proud array, for the organization now at length assuming 
tangible shape had been first conceived in his fertile brain, and 
owed more of its present strength to him than to any other liv- 
ing man. That chieftain was Rory O’More, who, with his con- 
stant friend, PI unket, stood in a corner just behind where Lord 
Muskerry sat with the banner of MacCarthy hanging in heavy 
folds above him. 

It were hard to describe O’More’s thoughts when, just as the 
first ray of moonlight streamed in through a window opposite, 
Hugh O’Neil], the venerable primate, ascended the steps of the 
altar, and, after a short but touching prayer, gave utterance to 
the solemn words* which each one present repeated after him, 
holding up their right hands. 

* The oath of aasoeiation taken by the Confederate Catholics was 

as follows : “ I do profess, swear, and protest before God, and 

Ilis saints and angels, that I will, during my life, bear true faith and 
, allegiance to my Sovereign Lord, Charles, by the grace of God, King 
?of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, and to his heirs and lawful 
■ successors ; and that I will, to my power, during my life, defend, up- 
hold, and maintain all his and their just prerogatives, estates, and 
rights, the power and privilege of the Parliament of this realm, the 
fundamental laws of Ireland, the free exercise of the Roman Catholic 
faith and religion throughout this land ; and the lives, just liberties, 
possessions, estates, and rights of all those that have taken, or that 
shall take this oath, and perform the contents thereof ; and that I will 
obey and ratify all the orders and decrees made and to be made by 


54 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Thank God,” exclaimed O’More, with that fervor which be- 
longed to his character, as he and Plunket quitted the Church 
side by side, and turned in the direction of the river to enjoy a 
moonlight stroll on its verdant banks ; “ thank God, Plunket, 
things begin to stand on a more solid foundation — much hath 
been already done by this synod ” 

“ Truly yes,” said Plunket, “ this oath was happily devised — 
pray Heaven it answer the intent of its pious framers and clasp 
the old and new Irish together for so long as this struggle lasts ! 
An’ the vessel fall to pieces again, before our enemies are brought 
to terms, the condition of the people will be worse than it ever 
hath been.” 

“ ^larry, so think I, but, pri’thee, Kicbard, let us not give 
way to gloomy imaginings now when all seems bright and of 
good promise. I would there had been more of the old blood 
present, so that the voices of all blending in that solemn vow, 
the bond of union might be henceforward and for ever cemented 
with brotherly love. What thinkest thou, keen lawyer as thou 
art, of these rules already drawn up and the ordinances made 1”* 


the Supreme Council of the Confederate Catholics of this kingdom, 
concerning the said public cause ; and I will not seek, directly or indi- 
rectly, any pardon or protection for any act done, or to be done, 
touching this general cause, without the consent of the major part of 
said council, and that I will not, directly or indirectly, do any act or 
acts that shall prejudice the said cause, but will, to the hazard of my 
life and estate, assist, prosecute, and maintain the same. 

“ Moreover, I do further swear that I will not accept of, or submit 
unto, any peace made, or to be made, with the said Confederate 
Catholics, without the consent and approbation of the general assem- 
bly of the said Confederate Catholics, and for the preservation and 
strengthening of the association and union of the kingdom. That 
upon any peace or accommodation to be made or concluded with the 
said Confederate Catholics as aforesaid, I will, to the utmost of my 
power, insist upon and maintain the ensuing propositions, until a 
peace, as aforesaid, be made, and the matters to be agreed upon in 
the articles of peace to be established, and secured by Parliament. 
So help me, God, and His holy Gospel.” 

“ Such,” says Rev. Mr. Meehan in his Confederation of Kilkenny^ 
“ such was this solemn oath, or ‘ faedus,’ which gave a distinct appel- 
lation to those who bound themselves by it, and whom we are 
henceforth to know as the ConfSderate Catholics of Ireland.” 

* The following enactments were made by this Council, “ for the 
conservation and exercise of this union,” viz. : between all “ Irish 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


55 


“ It would ill become me to find fault with them,” said Plun- 
ket with his humorous smile, “ seeing that they be in part my 
own bantlings. However, such as they are, methinks no Ca- 


peers, magistrates, noblemen, cities, and provinces.” Their wisdom, 
moderation, and entire fitness for the object in view, must strike all 
who read them : 

I. Whereas, the war which now in Ireland the Catholics do main- 
tain against sectaries, and chiefly against Puritans, for the defence 
of the Catholic religion, — for the maintenance of the prerogative and 
royal rights of our gracious King Charles, — for our gracious Queen, 
so unworthily abused by the Puritans, — for the honor, safety, and 
health of their royal issue, — for to avert and repair the injuries done 
to them, — for the conservation of the just and lawful safeguard, 
liberties, and rights of Ireland, — and, lastly, for the defence of their 
own lives, fortunes, lands, and possessions ; — whereas this war is un- 
dertaken for the aforesaid causes against unlawful usurpers, oppressors, 
and the enemies of the Catholics, chiefly Puritans, and that hereof 
we are informed, as well by divers and true remonstrances of divers 
provinces, counties, and noblemen, as also by the unanimous consent 
and agreement of a’most the whole kingdom in this war and union, — 
we, therefore, declare that war, openly Catholic, to bo lawful and 
just ; in which war, if some of the Catholics be found to proceed out 
of some particular and unjust title — covetousness, cruelty, revenge, 
or hatred, or any such unlawful private intentions — we declare them 
therein grievously to sin, and therefore worthy to be punished and 
restrained with ecclesiastical censures if, advised thereof, they do not 
amend. 

II. Whereas the adversarlss do spread divers rumors, do write 
divers letters, and, under the King’s name, do print proclamations, 
which are not the King’s, by which means divers plots and dangers 
nlTty ensue unto our nation ; wo, therefore, to stop the way of untruth, 
and forgeries of' political adversaries, do will and command that no 
such rumors, letters, or prcclamations, may have-place or belief until 
it be known in a national council, whether they truly proceed from the 
King, left to his own freedom, and until agents of this kingdom, here- 
after to be appointed by the National Cjuncil, have free passage to 
his'Majesty, whereby the kingdom may be certainly informed of his 
Majesty’s intention and will. 

III. Wo straightly command all our inferiors, as well churchmen 
as laymen, to make no alienation, comparison, or difference between 
provinces, cities, towns, or families ; and lastly, not to begin or for- 
ward any emulations, or comparisons whatsoever. 

IV. That in every province of Ireland there be a Council made up, 
both of clergy and nobility, in which council shall be so many persons, 
at least, as are counties in the province, and out of every city or nota- 
ble town, two persons. 

V. Lot ono general council of the whole kingdom be made, both of 
the clergy, nobility, cities, and notable towns, in which council there 
shall be three out of every province, and out of every city, one ; or 


56 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


tholic can cavil at any of tllem. The formation of the councils 
is a grand stroke, a capital stroke, friend Roger, and as for the 
other several ordinances, they serve, if other purpose they had 
not, as a sort of creed for our National Confederation. I tell 
thee, Roger,” said Plunket warming with his subject as he the 
more considered it, “I tell thee, the work already done by this 
assembly of lords, temporal and spiritual, will make amends to us 
— ay ! an hundred times over — for that unhappy affair of Mag- 
eny. Nay, never look so downhearted, Roger ! that was a heavy 
blow, God knows, but the wound it gave the nation happily 
reached no vital part. See you not how full of life we are — ay ! 
in truth, vigorous and lusty as the mountain roe, and as ready 
to overleap all manner of obstacles that lie between us and 
freedom. Think no more of it, Roger, there was no blame at- 
tached to any who fought there ” 

“ Still, Richard, you must own it was discouraging, to say the 
least of it. Think of all the noble gentlemen whose names are 
covered with the disgrace of that action. There was Mount- 
garret himself, Dunboj?ne and Skerrin, Sir Morgan Cavauagh, 
O’Byrne, and lastly, my humble self. Such a show of men an 1 
officers of note, and all for nothing — worse than nothing. Ah ! 
Plunket, men may talk as they will of numerical strength, but, 
after all, discipline is the main thing — we Irish were taught a 
fearful lesson at that same bridge of Mageny, to wit, that vast 

where cities are not, out of the chiefest towns. To this council the 
provincial councils shall have subordination, and from thence to it 
may be appealed, until this National Council shall have opportunity 
to sit together. 

VI. Let a faithful inventory be made, in every province, of the 
murders, burnings, and other cruelties which are permitted by the 
Puritan enemies, with a quotation of the place, day, cause, manner, 
and persons, and other circumstances, subscribed by one of publio 
authority. 

VII. iVe do declare and julge all and every such as do forsake 
this union, fight for our enemies, accompany them in their war, de- 
fend, or in any way assist them, to be excommunicated, and, by these 
presents, do excommunicate them. 

VIII. We will and declare all those that murder, dismember, or 
grievously strike, all thieves, unlawful spoilers, robbers of any goods, 
to be excommunicated, and so to remain till they completely amend 
and satisfy, no less than if they were namely proclaimed excommuni- 
cated!” — Meehan’s Confederation of Kilkenny^ p. 30. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


57 


bodies of men are but an incumbrance on the field of battle if 
they be not well trained and well accoutred.” ”• 

“ How, think you, will Clanrickarde and those of his party 
take our ordinances said Plunket, partly with a view to 
change what he knew was a painful subject. 

“ Not over well, I imagine, seeing that no alternative is left 
them but excommunication, if so be they persevere in their 
present abetment of the enemy’s courses.” 

“ Excommunication quotha !” repeated Plunket with that 
caustic humor which ever characterized him; “ methinks, Roger, 
such Catholics as Ulick Burke take little heed of spiritual cen- 
sures — so long as they be not debarred from government favor, 
or the emoluments of office, the bishops may curse them ‘ bell, 
book, and candle-light,’ without troubling their digestion in the 
least ! — 'may God confound all such white-livered, time-serving 
knaves, say I !” 

“ I do heartily admire your honest indignation, Richard !” 
said O’More with his genial smile ; “ albeit that you may judge 
my Lord Clanrickarde over harshly — I am told here that an 
effort will shortly be made by some of the bishops to bring him 
over to his rightful place in this struggle — let us wait to see 
what effect their remonstrance will have before we judge the 
Earl with such pitiless severity! But hark! is not that the ninth 
hour sounding from the old clock of St. Canice 1 By my word, 
Richard, it is, — we have tarried over long, you see, beguiled by 
the beauty of earth and sky, and the Nore’s tremulous reflection 
of yonder planet’s silvery beams — Muskerry and Mountgarret 
and the rest will deem us somewhat indifferent counsellors, an’ 
we try their patience in this wise !” 

“ The fault is yours, good friend mine,” rejoined Plunket with 
a laugh ; “ sooth to say Madam Luna hath no such charms for 
me, that for her dear sake I would take to wandering, ghost- 
like, amongst the night-shadows. A soul full of poetry like 
yours must needs do homage to the queen of night, but a man 
of prose such as I, hath more fondness for the busy, bustling, 
matter-of-fact daylight, when all the world is up and doing. 
However, Roger, my good fellow, an’ you quicken your steps, 
so as to reach the Swan before our noble friends’ patience be 


58 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


exhausted, we may e’en have business of some import on hands 
to-night, touching matters to be brought before the synod 
to-morrow.” 

O’jMore was no less anxious than his friend to reach the place 
of appointment, whither they were invited to meet the lay-lords 
of the council at a supper given by Lord Mountgarret, for the 
avowed purpose of conferring together on the further proceed- 
ings of the deliberative body. Yet still the brave chieftain could 
not repress a heavy sigh as the old tavern* broke on his view at 
the turn of one of the abrupt angles in which Kilkenny, like 
most ancient cities, abounds. He was thinking, as Plunket 
rightly guessed, of that other such preliminary night-meeting 
which ended in the capture of McGuire and McMahon. 

“ Forgive me, Richard, if I appear gloomy and despondent — 
it is not from any fears anent the success of our cause that I now 
heave the sigh, but my heart is ever heavy when I bethink me 
of those two gallant friends of ours cooped up within the four 
walls of a dungeon at such time as this when most the country 
needs the swords and strong arms of her sons — nothing know- 
ing, nothing hearing of what passeth amongst us their friends 
and comrades, other than what their jailers may see fit to tell 
them — oh, friends ! friends ! brave and generous and true- 
hearted ! shall these eyes ever behold ye again 'I shall your 
long-shackled limbs ever bear ye again in freedom over the 
green fields where ye sported but few short months ago, light- 
some and swift as the red deer of the mountains P’ 

They had just reached the door of the Swan, and Plunket 
who was himself catching the infection of his friend’s melan- 
choly, was not sorry to exchange his sole companionship for the 
cheerful, animated, and somewhat noisy crowd already occupy- 
ing the Swan’s best apartment. Happily for all concerned, no 
untoward occurrence came to mar the social enjoyment of that 

*Lest our readers should be in any degree scandalized at the place 
chosen for such an eatertainmenb by such a company, it may be well 
to observe that the word hotel had no place in the vocabulary of our 
ancestors, nor had the word tavern the same signification that it how 
has. Inn and tavern were tho common names applied to all houses 
of entertainment. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


59 


evening, which was long looked back upon by the gallant gen- 
tlemen there assembled as a pleasant oasis in the desert of long- 
protracted warfare. Few such festive evenings fell to the lot of 
many there in after times ! 

Before the synod broke up towards the end of that month of 
May, another grand and more general assembly, both lay and^ 
clerical, was called for the following October, in the same good ' 
old city of Kilkenny. Agents were immediately despatched anew 
to the different Catholic Courts of Europe, soliciting assistance ; 
foreign merchants were invited to export munitions of war to 
Ireland, and artizans skilled in the manufacture of arms were 
likewise offered every encouragement to induce them to take 
up their abode in the districts occupied by the Confederate 
forces.* Copies of the rules and regulations so far made were 
sent to all the Catholic noblemen and gentlemen throughout the 
kingdom, with a manifesto declaratory of the ends and objects of 
the Confederation just formed. 

It was about the end of that same month of May that two 
gentlemen of noble mien might have been seen one evening 
pacing to and fro the length of the flagged way leading 
through the Upper Castle Yard in Dublin City. The massive 
gates opening on Cork Hill were not yet closed for the night, 
but there was none the greater bustle in the narrow old court 
lying so darkly in the evening shades between the massive walls 
of the Castle, for, during that stormy time of civil commotion, the 
citizens were not permitted, as they were before, and are since, 
to make the Castle Yards, Upper and Lower, a short cut to the 
streets below. The few straggling soldiers visible in the Yard 
were evidently careful not to come within hearing of the earnest 
discourse carried on in a low voice between the two individuals 
just mentioned, and even the sentries pacing their weary rounds 
on either hand, appeared equally willing to keep as far from 
them as their appointed limits would permit. Both gentlemen 
had that about them which denoted military as well as civil 
rank, although but one had anything distinctive in the costume 
which so well became his lofty mien and graceful form. His 

* See Meehan’s Confederation of Kilkenny, pp. 30, 31. 


60 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


dark handsome features are not unknown to us, nor yet the 
bland smile of condescension wherewith he deigns to 

listen, as it were, to the deep, full, measured tones of his com- 
panion. Such a smile was never seen, save on Ormond’s face, 
and Onnond it surely was. But who, then, was he who walked 
so long by the proud Earl’s side in friendly converse, nor seemed 
in anywise overpowered by that nobleman’s stretch of conde- 
scension in granting him so long an audience 1 i^uite at his 
ease he appeared to be, with his plumed hat thrown back some- 
what from his broad, massive brow, and his mail-gloved hand 
laid at times on the Earl’s shoulder, as though to enforce con- 
viction. There was a quiet consciousness of equality in the gen- 
tleman’s whole demeanor towards Ormond, although he had 
neither the exquisite polish, nor the insinuating address of that 
accomplished courtier. Yet he, too, was a tactitian in his way, 
and as a statesman was even then considered as not inferior to 
Ormond himself, while in social rank he was fully his equal. 
Indeed the British empire at that day contained not any noble- 
man of greater account, for he was no other than Ulick Burke, 
Earl of Clanrickarde, the great Palatine of the West, the cautious, 
calm, wily politician, who, belonging to the Catholics by reli- 
gious profession, still adhered to the cause of their enemies, and 
managed to maintain a high repute amongst them by his utter 
detachment from his natural friends, and entire devotion to the 
views and wishes of their oppressors. He it was who thus ac- 
companied Ormond in his evening walk, and it was hard to say 
which was the more astute politician, which the keener observer 
of men and things. Still there were some essential points of dif- 
ference between their characters, for while Ormond was entirely 
devoted to his own interests, and made all others subservient to 
them, Clanrickarde was honestly and heartily devoted to the ser- 
vice of the king his master, and what he considered the cause 
of order — more sincere than Ormond, he was also much less skilled 
in the art of dissembling, and could by no means descend to 
inti'igue or flattery to carry out his honest, though fatally erro- 
neous views. In person, Clanrickarde was like Ormond, tall and 
commanding, but the Connaught magnate was of larger propor- 
tions and more robust frame than he of Ormond, and although his 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


61 


features were regular and well formed, they wanted the chiselled 
smoothness which belonged so peculiarly to the other. Take 
them as they stood, those two great Anglo-Irish lords, Clanrrckarde 
was the larger and more athletic, perhaps the more imposing, 
while Ormond was immeasurably his superior in grace and ele- 
gance, and all manner of personal atci action. 

Clanrickarde had been giving an account of his recent success 
in bringing the refractory town of Oialway into subjection, and 
the manifold troubles arising to him from the want of proper 
supplies, which latter business had brought him to Dublin, 
although, as he said, he could ill spare even one day from the 
arduous cares of his government. 

“ Truly your lordship hath no enviable post there,” said Or- 
mond at the close of the narrative ; “ you have a turbulent crew to 
deal with in that same Galway of yours. Much did we hear of 
the good and peaceable dispositions existing amongst all classes 
in your lordship’s country, but, by my halidome, I was never 
deceived by those rumors, knowing well the stuflf whereof those 
old Norman tribes are made — they are at heart both proud 
and Papistical, opposed to all authority but their own, and well 
content to let the Irishry spoil and harry all the country round 
so long as they leave them masters within their fourteen gates 
and towers !” 

“ They are in truth what you say,” rejoined Clanrickarde, 
“ yet I hold that Willoughby* is not without his share of blame 
in regard to the recent disturbances. He is as fierce and cruel 
as a tiger, and as obstinate withal as a donkey, so that a man 
can no more bring him to reason than he could teach yonder 
post to walk. It is little short of madness, as I take it, to fix 
such overgrown boys as he in places of trust. Truly yes, the 
townsmen of Galway are, as you say, proud and hard to manage, 
but an’ I were left to deal with them as in former years, I war- 
rant me they had never made common cause with the Irish 

* Captain Willoughby, who then commanded the fort of Galway, 
was the son of Sir Francis of that name, who was appointed Governor 
of Dublin Castle very soon after that meeting of the Privy Councy at 
which wo introduced him to the reader. 


62 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


enemy whom they hate as they do the Evil One. Many a 
pretty piece of negotiation hath been spoiled for me of late by 
tlie hot-blooded rashness of that same spawn of the Parliament, 
for no sooner would the slightest difficulty arise between any of 
his soldiers and the townspeople, than, bang into the town, came 
down shell and shot, whereupon the citizens would at once 
break off all communication with me, send my messengers back 
in disgrace, and take to starving and otherwise annoying the 
garrison in the fort. I tell you, my lord of Ormond” — and stop- 
ping in his walk, he made Ormond do the same by placing his 
large hand like a grasp of iron on his shoulder — “ I tell you, 
an’ the city and fort of Galway be now in the hands of the 
government, small thanks are due to their pet Willoughby, for 
all that they kept him so well supplied with things needful 
while Clanrickarde was left to shift for himself and his poor' 
people as best he might.” 

“Nay, my good lord,” said Ormond in his soft, soothing 
way, methinks you are over hard upon the government ” 

“Hard!” repeated Clanrickarde with unwonted vehemence; 
“ before God I say it, James Butler, it hath seemed to me at 
times that the Lords Justices desired nothing more than to 
drive me from the king’s service, and force me into the ranks of 
rebellion — otherwise, had they never treated my poor services 
with such base ingratitude, or taken so little pains to provide me 
with munitions of war and other such matters as I stood in need 
of for his Majesty’s behoof. You know not, my lord, the straits 
whereto I have been reduced in order to hold that western 
country for the king, or the insults I have been forced to pocket 
from the disaffected. Why, it was but last week that my Castle 
of Aughanure, situate in a wild district of Connemara, was 
coolly taken possession of by a party of the O’Flahertys, n um- 
bering no more than fifty or thereabouts.” 

“ The O’Flahertys are up, then V’ questioned Ormond. 

“ Up I ay, marry, are they, and for the matter of that they 
were never down, save in so far or so long as authority and 
strength could keep them so. Arrant traitors are they every soul 
of them, and it needeth but a spark at any time to set their 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


03 


whole country* in a blaze. I would the Castle had been burned 
to the ground rather than fall into their hands.” 

“ Methinks,” said Ormond with his equivocal smile, “ that 
wish is unbecoming in the mouth of so loyal a nobleman. The 
Castle may yet be retaken from the Papist enemy, and stand us 
in good stead, whereas an’ it were burned, there were an end 
of it !” 

“Humph! talk is cheap,” observed the western Earl rather 
testily ; “ your lordship knows little of these O’Flahertys. An’ 
the worshipful Lords Justices supply me not in far "other fashion 
they have yet done, it will be long ere I or mine set foot within 
the walls of Aughanure. Young Murrough na Dhu O’Flaherty, 
who led the party against it, and in one hour’s fighting took the 
Castle and made prisoners of its garrison, in the name, forsooth, 
‘ of the Catholic army’ — he, I tell you, Earl, will hold it against 
all comers, unless, as I said, God moveth the hearts of those in 
power to set me on a proper footing for war. Though young 
in years, Murrough na Dhu hath the courage of a lion, and the 
arm of a blacksmith — a youthful Hercules he is, I wot me well, 
with a soul all on fire for what he deemeth the cause of religion 
and country. Take Aughanure back from Ms hands ! — by my 
knightly word, it might try the skill of Ormond himself to do it 
in that wild, unapproachable region 1” 

“ Good my lord,” said Ormond, without appearing to notice 
the mention made of his own name ; “ good my lord, there seem- 
eth to be an evil spirit at work amongst the young men of your 
country. Not to speak of this fierce O’Flaherty, there hath been 
wild work going on. amongst them of late, as we have heard here 
in Dublin!” 

“ Oh ! your lordship hath reference to that mad prank played 
some weeks since, by certain young men of Galway City, in re- 
gard to the taking of an English ship ! — truly that was a feat, all 
things considered. But as I told you before, it was all the work 
of Willoughby. His idle threats and violent aggressions drove 

* Nearly the whole of Jar-Connaught belonged of old, and conse- 
quently of right, to this princely sept, whose chiefs were dispossessed 
to make room for the Do Burgos. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Gl 

the townspeople to desperation, and fearing that all who pro- 
fessed the old faith might any day be turned out of the city, like 
unto the Catholics of Cork and Youghal, if not slaughtered in 
cold blood, a number of bold, reckless, crack-brained youths 
did attack and finally capture a ship laden chiefly with arms and 
ammunition, which had been lying some days in the harbor wait- 
ing to land her stores for the use of the fort.* By that means 
these desperadoes got possession of firearms and other war-stores 
in plenty, which things they had not in any quantity before. * 

“ And then 

“ And then, my lord, they went in a body to the Church 
of St. Nicholas and vowed all manner of loyalty — lip-loyalty, we 
n'^eds must think — towards his gracious Majesty, with entire de- 
votion, however, to the cause of rebellion. Truly God and St. 
Nicholas must have turned a deaf ear to such orisons as they 
put up ! — whosoever rebels against lawful authority, the Lord will 
not surely hold him guiltless !” 

It was well for Ormond that Clanrickarde saw not the mocking 
smile which played around his finely-curved lip at the moment, 
else had the western autocrat never again laid bare his thoughts 
before the keen scrutiny of that wily lord. Having his eyes fixed 
at the moment in another direction, he saw not the face of his 
companion, and went on quickly with what he had been saying. 

“ Issuing from the Church, those rebels, with the mayor, I 
grieve to say it, at their head, took possession speedily of all the 
gates, declaring that they would hold the town for King Charles 
and the Catholic army until such time as God sent them relief. 
Knaves and hypocrites——” 

“ Shame, shame, shame, Clanrickarde ! — traitor to God and His 
holy faith, dost thou dare thus to stigmatize the faithful and the 
true I” 

Thus spoke a deep, stern voice, almost, it would seem, at the 
Earl’s elbow, and turning fiercely he demanded ; 

“ My lord of Ormond, was it thou that spoke V* 

“ By my life, it was not !” the Earl replied with very sincere 
astonishment, and both peered into the deep shade whence the 


* This fact is historically true, to the immortal honor of old Galway . 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


65 


voice appeared to have issued. Not a living soul was there visi- 
ble, and Clanrickarde exclaimed with a shudder ; 

“ The devil himself, then, must be in it, for the voice was 
close to my ear !’* 

“ What ho, there ! — close the gates instantly ! — secure the 
t aitor, whoever he be!” 

Lord Ormond’s command was quickly obeyed, but not before 
an aged mendicant presented himself at the gate nearest to the 
two noblemen, soliciting charity in the professional whine that 
marked his class then as now. 

“ Get you gone, old scare-crow,” cried the proud Earl, raising 
his mailed hand, “ or I strike you as you may not relish. Get 
you gone, I say, this be no place for beggars 1 * 

“ True for you, my noble master,” the old man whined again 
as the massive gate was closed against him ; “ God reward you 
— as you deserve, — for sure it’s your own good-looking face that 
covers the black heart !” 

“ What is the scoundrel muttering 1 ’ exclaimed Ormond. 

“ lie is complimenting your lordship on your goodness of 
heart 1” Clanrickarde replied with such a laugh as was seldom 
heard from his lips. “Nay, man, waste no time looking after 
him , — let us rather seek my invisible friend, an’ he be within 
these limits I” 

A burst of merriment from without the gate caused the two 
lords to start, and the voice of the nendicant was heard to say : 
“ A comical sight it surely is to see my lord of Ormond and the 
Papist Earl of Clanrickarde playing hide-and-seek together this 
bright May evening I” 

The heavy gate was thrown open again, and Ormond himself, 
for once forgetful of his dj^hty, rushed out followed at slower 
pace by Clanrickarde, but the beggar had disappeared, and it 
were worse than useless to seek him amongst the crowd of citi- 
zens whom the beauty of the night had tempted abroad. 

Before twelve o’clock that night messengers from within the 
city were far on their way to Kilkenny with an account of all 
that could interest the Confederate leaders in the foregoing con- 
versation. 

During the following week a very strong remonstrance was 


60 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


addressed to Lord Clanrickarde, bearing the honored signatures 
of three illustrious bishops belonging to his own section of tho 
country.* Malachy of Tuam, Francis of Elphin, and John of 
Clonfert were the names affixed to the eloquent and forcible ap- 
peal in which nought was left unsaid that might touch the heart, 
or awaken the slumbering conscience of the Earl. But Clan- 
rickarde was not to be moved from his strange and anomalous 
position, and thenceforward the Confederates, both lay and cler- 
ical, gave him up in despair. 

* In the West, three bishops .... addressed a remonstrance 
to tho Earl of Clanrickarde, importuning him to join the national 
cause, “which was,” in his opinion, “ grounded upon wrong and bad 
foundations.” In vain did Mountgarrot and the bishops endeavor to 
convince him that he was helping to ruin his country. “ No argu- 
ment,” said they, “ though you should write it in our very blood, will 
overpersuade the Justices your affections are sincere, while you bear 
about you those marks by which they distinguish such as they have 
appointed for perdition. Let it not come to you to sprinkle your an- 
cestors’ graves with the blood of such as will sacrifice themselves 
in the justifiable cause.” — Clanrickarde^ s Memoirs, 117, quoted by 
Meehan. 





THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


07 


CHAPTER V. 

“0, he sits high in all the people’s hearts ; 

An<i that, which would appear offence in us, 

His countenance, like richest alchymy, 

Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.” 

Shakespeare. 

The day succeeding Owen Roe’s arrival was a busy, bustling 
day in and around Charlemont Castle. The chiefs who had been 
there some days awaiting his coming were now engaged with 
him in earnest deliberation on the measures to be taken in order 
to co-operate effectively with the Confederate forces of the other 
.provinces. By common consent Colonel O’Neill was placed in 
the seat of honor as president of the council, and near him sat 
Sir John Netterville with a smile half serious, half playful, curl- 
ing his thin lip. Opposite Owen, at the further end of the long 
table which served as a council-board, the burly form of Sir 
Phelim occupied the other “ seat of honor,” as Sir Phelim’s air 
of official arrogance plainly expressed. Yet the swaggering air 
of consequence was but assumed at that particular time, for 
poor Phelim was sadly sensible that the sceptre was departing 
from him and for ever. Little as he had seen of his kinsman, it 
had sufficed to show him that factious opposition to his author- 
ity — if supreme authority were given him — would be worse than 
useless, and Sir Phelim, with all his violence of temper, and im- 
periousness of manner, when inferiors .or even equals were in 
question, was not at all the man to resist the influence of a mas- 
ter mind placed by the will of the chiefs in authority over all. 

Glancing around the table from end to end we recognize many 
an old acquaintance, old but unforgotten. Familiar they are to 
us as the first actors in the great rebellion, but they were not so 
to Owen O’Neill, whose keen eye scanned the features of each 


68 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


in turn with the rapid, scrutinizing glance of one accustomed to 
read such books. Happily his own face brightened as he looked, 
for, whatever else he saw in the faces around him, he read in all 
the same fixed and settled purpose, the same longing to be up 
and doing, now that there was once more hope of something to 
do. 

Amongst the many chiefs there assembled, there were but 
two of those who had been guests at McGuire’s board on that 
fatal night when he and McMahon had fallen into the toils of 
the enemy. Philip O’Reilly and Tirlogh O’Neill were these two, 
and heavy were the hearts of both as the joyous hilarity of that 
scene arose before them. A shade of sadness was on O’Reilly’s 
calm face, and as he turned involuntarily to speak his thoughts 
to Art McMahon who sat next him, his voice trembled with emo- 
tion as memory brought back the young, buoyant, jovial coun- 
tenance of poor Costelloe — the last sight he had of him. What 
O’Reilly said to McMahon Owen Roe O’Neill heard not, but 
guessing from the expression on the face of either chieftain the 
thoughts which filled the soul of each, he addressed himself to 
McMahon ; 

“ Chieftain of Uriel,” said he, “be not cast down with mourn- 
ful recollections — there is still hope for your brother, and even 
were there none, you have cause to rejoice in that the first sacri- 
fice of propitiation was demanded and accepted from your noble 
and ever faithful house.” 

“ Alas ! Colonel,” replied the chief sadly, “ you speak as one 
who never had a brother — you know not, cannot know how I 
loved that light-hearted brother of mine, and oh God ! to think 
what torments he hath undergone since last mine eyes beheld 
him — had he fallen in honorable warfare, ay ! though it were 
but in the Spanish wars,* methinks I could resign him into the 
hands of Providence without a sigh, but this living death to 

which he is doomed — nay, talk not to me of being resigned” 

this to O’Rourke who was seated near him — “ I cannot, will not 
be resigned while my only brother languishes in a noisome vault 
of Dublin Castle. Oh ! the heavy, heavy sorrow !” 

* Costelloe McMahon had served with distinction in the Spanish 
army. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


09 


“ Heavy it may be, Art,” said the princely O’Rourko with a 
deep-drawn sigh, “ but — but — the load is not all your own to 
carry — others have had brothers — oh, how dear ! — and lost 
them, too, since this war began !” 

The touching sadness of O’Rourke’s tone was well understood 
by all, and many a hand was raised to dash away the trickling 
tear from eyes little used to weep. O’Neill had heard, since his 
arrival, the story of O’Rourke’s wrongs, and now seeing the sub- 
dued anguish so visible on the chieftain’s noble features, with his 
stern repression of all outward emotion, his heart warmed to 
him, and he said within himself : 

“ Ay ! there is a man fit to lead others, for surely he well doth 
govern himself,” and involuntarily he bowed his head before the 
majesty of sorrow so plainly stamped on the chieftain’s brow. 

“ You speak truly, Owen O’Rourke,” cried Roderick Maguire 
with that impetuosity which, unlike his brother, ever distinguish- 
ed his words and actions ; “ we all have our crows to pluck with 
the truculent Lord Justices, and their minions — for me I can- 
not think of these things without feeling for my trusty skene — 
had I mine own way. Colonel O’Neill, we should long ere now 
have marched straightways to Dublin and burned the city over 
the heads of our cowardly tyrants an’ they gave us not back our 
brothers safe and sound ” 

“ Ay, marry,” said his uncle Lorcan with the solemn dignity 
which he thought became his age, “ were it not for the warnings 
received from the guardian spirits of our house, methinks Rory 
would have led his own followers on that rash enterprize — is it 
not so, nephew V' 

“ Nonsense, uncle,” was the irreverent and somewhat indeco- 
rous answer, “ what care I for the spirits or their warnings, and 
that I have told you full many a time !” 

“ Have a care, nephew, have a care,” and the old man shook 
his white head with a warning gesture ; “ your speech is far other 
than becoming — the spirits who have care of us are not to bo 
lightly spoken of, as you may one day be brought to confess. 
Heed not his rash words, Colonel O’Neill, — he is young and hot- 
headed, but a brave fellow withal, as the Englishers in these 
parts can toll to their cost — a child he is in wisdom, honored sir, 


70 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


but, take an old man’s word for it, he can do a good man’s work 
when the falchion is in his hand and the Puritan enemy before 
him !” 

That were easy to believe,” said 0 Neill, courteously, “ even 
though the testimony were less worthy of credence — it is but to 
look at Roderick Maguire and we see the noble courage of his 
race stamped on every feature !” 

“ Courage alone is little worth,” observed Rory with a reprov- 
ing look at his uncle ; “ an ounce of your experience, Colonel, is 
worth a pound of it j however, that will come in time, an’ the 
enemy hold out.” 

During this incidental conversation many of the chiefs had 
been discussing in a low, suppressed voice the relative merits of 
the different commanders already in the field. Some made hon- 
orable mention of Mountgarret, others thought Muskerry the bet- 
ter officer, while others still were inclined to give General Barry 
the first place, as being, they maintained, the most successful cap- 
tain who had yet appeared on the side of the Confederates. 

“ Witness,” said McMahon, “ his recent capture of Liscarroll 
Castle.* That I take to be the noblest achievement of this war 
as far as it hath gone yet. Nay, nay, O’Hanlon, I understand 
your gesture — you would remind me of the taking of Newry by 
- our friend here present — the which I have not forgotten. That, 
however, was partly a surprise, as Iveagh himself will own, but 
this new feat of Barry’s ” 

“ Is, as you say, McMahon, the greatest thing done yet,” said 
the generous chieftain of Iveagh, “and I am free to admit that 
Barry is a brave and skilful officer, but I am much mistaken if 
a greater than he hath not come amongst us — ay, and one of our 
own race, too.” 

A murmur of applause greeted this speech, and Netterville 
laid his hand on Owen O’Neill’s shoulder, as though he would 

* Belonging to Sir Philip Percival. Lord Incbiquin declared it the 
strongest castle he had seen in Ireland. General Barry took it after 
a siege of thirteen days, although the ground around was so marshy - 
that, in order to bring his guns within range, he was forced to dis- 
^ mount them. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


71 


have said ; “ Thou art the man !” But O’Neill little heeded the 
act, for his eyes were at that time rivetted on a tall, dignified 
personage who had just made his appearance at one of the side 
doors, and stood there looking on with a sort of paternal smile 
on his thin dark features. Before any movement on his part 
had revealed his presence, several of the chiefs called out simul- 
taneously: “Bishop M‘ Sweeny of Kilmore !” and instantly all 
were on their feet, howing reverentially to the smiling prelate as 
he greeted them collectively with the sign of the cross. 

“ Welcome to Charlemont, my lord,” said Sir Phelim advanc- 
ing with a surly attempt at condescension, “ albeit that I know 
we are indebted for the favor to the arrival of my honorable 
kinsman.” 

“ I deny it not, fair sir,” said the lordly prelate, as his eye, 
running round the stately circle, rested on Owen Roe ; “ I am, as 
thou knowest, a man of peace, and am out of my element in the 
company of warrior-men. If I am here now, it is with serious 
intent affecting the country’s and the church’s weal. I need not 
ask which is Colonel O’Neill,” that officer was already bending 
low before him, and when he at length raised his head, the good 
bishop stood a moment looking fixedly on his face, then laying 
his hand on his shoulder, he said with much emotion : 

“ Bless you, my son, bless you, soldier of the cross !” and with 
his thumb he made the sacred sign on the high, smooth forehead 
of the chief. 

“ Will your lordship honor us by taking a seat at our board 1” 
said O’Neill respectfully ; “ if so, mine is at your service !” and 
leading him up the room he would have placed him in the presi- 
dential chair which honor the bishop declined. 

“ I pray you excuse me, Colonel, but my right reverend 
brother of Clogher must needs be here ere long, and ” 

“ Your right reverend brother of Clogher is much beholden to 
your lordship,” said a cheerful voice from the still open door, 
“ but, on the old principle of first come, first served, the seat is 
yours beyond all doubt. I might have got the start of you, my 
lord, were it not for a mishap which befel Malachy ” 

“How! whatl” exclaimed the chieftain of Uriel, advancing 


72 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


with a flushed and anxious countenance ; “ no evil, I trust, hath 
come unto him — how is it, my lord 

“ Nay, cousin, the matter is not so serious that you need be 
disturbed in mind” — ^and the prelate smiled with that good humor 
which made him so generally popular — “ it was but that having 
met a red-haired woman at our starting this morning, the which, 
you know, Art, he deemeth to denote ill luck,* and being unable 
to persuade me to return with him and commence the journey 
anew, the poor fellow betook himself home again in much dis- 
tress of mind for that I, a bishop, should be obstinate in running 
the risk of some mishap. Neither could I, by any means, reason 
him out of his own notion, and so home he went, notwithstand- 
ing his unwillingness to see me depart without attendance.” 

“ And I say it here in presence of all these noble chiefs, and 
I ask McMahon an’ it be not so, — that your lordship is no more 
fit to journey alone in these perilous times than a child of a year 
old. If you weren’t as simple as a child with all your learn- 
ing, you’d be as feared of meeting a red-haired woman the first 
thing in the morning as myself or any one else.” 

When the chieftains had enjoyed their hearty laugh at Ma- 
lachy’s expense, for Malachy himself was the speaker — that grave 
individual bowed all round with a most deferential air ; and 
again his solemn voice was heard : 

“ Save you kindly, noble Chiefs of Ulladh, it isn’t among the 
likes of you the likes of me should open his mouth, and I 
wouldn’t set foot in the room with you all to the fore, no, not for 
a mint of money, only when once I got sight of his lordship 
there, I kept him in view till he came in here, and then I thought 
I might as well take a peep at what was going on, and see if I 
could get a sight of the great O’Neill that was so long spoken of 
in prophecy.” 

With the condescending grace of a polished gentleman, O’Neill 
advanced and reached his hand to Malachy, to the no small sur- 
prise of the simple follower of McMahon who looked as if he 
doubted the reality of so glorious a vision. A few kind words 

* This superstition is common amongt tho peasantry of the northern 
province. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


73 


from the colonel, however, and a smile of encouragement from 
the bishop and the chief whose eyes he sought for confirmation 
of his doubts, set the poor fellow at rest on that head, and with 
a gesture expressive of wonder and delight he bowed himself 
out of what he considered the most august presence in the land 
of Ireland. 

The presence of the Bishop of Clogher did not appear to 
excite quite the same enthusiasm amongst the chiefs as in for- 
mer times it did, and it might be that the prelate felt that, for 
his manner indicated the slightest possible degree of reserve, a 
thing all unusual with him, and, as people thought, foreign to 
his frank and hearty character. In the bearing of the chiefs 
towards him there was now nothing more than the respect due 
to his high office, but whatever it was that had brought this 
change about, no one appeared willing to have it observed by 
Owen O’Neill, or Sir John Netterville. Bishop McMahon, as the 
senior of his right reverend brother was, therefore, placed in the 
chair of authority, and then the council was formally opened by 
Sir Con Magennis, who, rising from his seat with much dignity, 
requested Colonel O’Neill to state what his hopes were with re- 
gard to present and future succor from abroad. 

Owen Roe O’Neill was no orator — few military leaders are — 
but his views, clearly conceived, were clearly expressed in a 
concise and forcible manner, which, together with the calm dig- 
nity of his mien and his perfect self-possession, was sure to 
impress favorably all those who hoard him. Being thus called 
upon, he arose, and, bowing to the bishops, then around" to the 
chiefs, he stated, in as few words as i:)ossible, what his expecta- 
tions were with regard to foreign aid. 

“ I myself,” said he, “ have with me one hundred officers of good 
standing, whose experience will profit us much — also arms and 
ammunition for a force of a thousand men or thereabouts — these 
await my orders at Doe Castle, in Donegal, which we succeeded 
in taking from those who held it for the enemy.” 

As soon as he could make his voice heard above the loud 
chorus of applause which greeted his ears on every side, O’Neill 
resumed his discourse with the same composure as before : 

“ Cardinal Richelieu,” said he, “ as I learn from under his own 
14 


74 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


hand, is at present fitting out some ten or twelve vessels for our 
support, the which will reach our waters, if nothing adverse 
happen to them, early in the coming autumn — his Catholic 
Majesty of Spain gives me his royal word that the ship which he 
hath given to convey us hither, shall speedily be followed by 
others laden with all things needful for our uses, and I have it 
from the mouth of one whose word none of you will, methinks, 
doubt, that is Father Luke Wadding— that the Holy Father, out 
of his small means, is about to send to his children of Ireland 
such subsidies of money and arms as will surprise them.” 

This announcement, with the mention of Wadding’s name, 
called forth another burst of applause, louder and more pro- 
longed than before, and, by the time it was ended. Sir Phelim 
O’Neill was on his legs, and scowhng with one of his blackest 
looks on the assembly. * 

“ This, or something like it, have we heard full often ere now,” 
said he, “ ay ! before ever a sword was drawn or a pike raised 
against the enemy. Strange to say, not one of these fine promises 
was ever fulfilled, and we were none the better that ever I could 
see, for our foreign expectations — pshaw ! far-off cows have long 
horns, and it may well be that the great Richelieu and Philip of 
Spain, not to speak of the Pope of Rome, have their hands so 
full at this present moment as to leave little room for our affairs. 
Methinks, with all respect for potentates and people beyond seas, 
that every chief here present hath in his own proper person 
done more for the cause than we can ever reasonably expect 
from them'' 

“ That no one will gainsay, cousin mine,” said Owen kindly, 
“ and may Heaven forget me when I forget what hath been done 
by you all ! Still the war hath now reached a stage when for- 
eign aid is necessary to us — how otherwise could we think to cope 
^with Ormond, Inchiquin, Broghill, Vavasour, young Coote, and 
{other captains of high renown in the south, east and west, with 
Stewart, Cole, and Montgomery here at your very doors — all 
more or less provided now with the means of continuing the 
war I Of Monroe’s force in Carrick I speak not now, for, what- 
ever be the object of the Parliament of England in sending them 
thither, they appear at present little disposed for active service. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


75 


With the generals I have mentioned already in the field, and every 
prospect of speedy aid from England for our enemies, what could 
we do without officers to train our raw and undisciplined forces, 
and arms and ammunition to put in their hands when they are 
taught to use them 

Some cutting remark of Sir Phelim’s was stopt short by Philip 
O’Reilly, who hastened to prevent what he knew might breed 
discord. 

“ That we stand in sore need of help from abroad. Colonel 
O’Neill, no one here doubts, that wo shall have it in due time, 
is, I think, well nigh as certain — we came not hither to discuss 
that point, but rather, it appears to me, to choose a leader for 
our future operations. How is it, friends and brother chieftains, 
and ye, our reverend lords ! are we come together with that 
intent, or are w'e not P’ 

“ Surely yes,” was the simultaneous answer. 

“ Let my lord of Clogher, then, of his goodness, put it to the 
council whether we have found the man to whom all will cheer- 
fully yield obedience,” 

“ Chieftains of Ulster,” said the bishop rising with the dignity 
which became his office, “ the war which you were the first to 
undertake for the sacred cause of religion and liberty has, with 
the blessing of God, become general throughout the nation. 
Like the mustard-seed spoken of in the Gospel your attempt has 
been followed by so great results that we may liken it to a 
mighty tree overshadowing all the land. The whole country is 
astir; the princes and chiefs, and tribes of the old blood are not 
less active or less zealous in the cause than the chivalrous 
sons of the stranger” — and turning his head, the prelate bowed 
slightly to Sir John Netterville. who, rising from his seat, returned 
the graceful and welcome compliment with a profound reverence. 

The enemy, too, is putting forth all his powers,” resumed the 
bishop, “ for a last desperate effort. It behoveth us, then, to 
place a man at our head— we of this northern province — ^who may 
turn our resources to good account, and do credit to us before 
friends and foes. Such a one stands now before you in the per- 
son of Colonel Owen O’Neill, a man who hath the skill and the 
prudence to marshal our clans and lead them on to victory. His 


7G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


veins are filled, moreover, with the blood of Con, and the glory 
of the Hy-Nials is his by birthright.” 

“ In the name of our holy mother, the church,” said Bishop 
McSweeny with that impressive solemnity which ever character- 
ized him, “ I do hereby nominate Colonel O’Neill as the chief 
captain of our northern army.” 

“ And I, too, my good lord,” said he of Clogher, “ well know- 
ing, as doth your lordship, the opinion of our reverend brethren 
of the episcopate on this head.” 

“ Chieftains of the North !” said Sir Con Magennis, rising in 
his turn, “ it is now for you to confirm, as I know you will, the 
appointment just made in the name of that church for whose 
freedom still more than our own we draw the sword.” 

“ Before we proceed farther in this matter,” said Owen Roe 
with his usual calmness and self-possession, “ I would know of 
my honored and valorous cousin here present whether he is 
willing to resign in my favor that command which he hath held 
in your army — it is surely not under this roof,” and he pointed 
upwards, “that the services of Sir Phelim O’Neill can be 
overlooked !” 

“Well said, Owen,” cried Tirlogh, taking the word from his 
brother’s mouth ; “ there was a day when but to speak of Charle- 
mont or Dungannon in these parts made men cheer till their 
throats were hoarse for Sir Phelim O’Neill. Forsooth ! times are 
changed, and though tongues can wag glibly in praise of the 
Norman Barry and other such mongrel whelps, there be none 
to say a word for Phelim O’Neill, or the towns and castles he 
was wont to take.” 

Many of the chiefs started up at the same moment, eager to 
protest against Tirlogh’s ill-mannered allusion to their brethren 
of the Pale, but Sir John Netterville was already on his feet, his 
fine face covered with a crimson glow, and an angry frown knit- 
ting his usually sunny brow.' 

“ Chieftains and noble gentlemen,” said he, “ I have listened 
with much interest to the several speakers, and looked forward 
to the result of your deliberations with unmixed satisfaction, 
knowing as I do that this gallant officer will be in himself an 
accession of strength to our common cause. Had a thunderbolt 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 77 

fallen in our midst I could not have been nore astounded than I 
was hy the speech of the gentleman from Tyrone. It is my 
pride and privilege to know General Barry, and I beg to assure 
Master Tirlogh O’Neill that Norman though he be his heart is 
centred In this cause — ay, truly, to the full as much as though 
all the blood of the Hy-Nials were in his veins — he is my cousin, 
I am proud to say, and the term ‘ mongrel whelp’ I cast back in 
the face of him Avho spoke it. Purer blood is not within the 
Pale than that which courseth through the veins of Robert 
Barry.” 

“ I know not an’ there be any pure blood within the Pale,’* 
retorted the fiery Ulsterman, but before he could add another 
word, both the bishops enjoined him to keep silent, and with the 
air of a surly, disappointed mastiff, he was fain to take his seat, 
but Sir Phelim was up in an instant. 

“ I would know,” said he, “ before we go farther in this mat- 
ter, by what right Sir John Netterville is here present. But sel- 
dom do we see those of his race in these northern wilds of ours. 
I demand his business whatsoever it be — for without business he 
came not here !” 

“ Business I have. Sir Phelim,” replied Netterville proudly, 
“ but other tongue than yours must needs put the question ere I 
answer it” — and turning he bowed to Colonel O’Neill 

“ An’ your coming,” said Owen, “ have, as I opine, aught to 
do with the affairs of the Confederation, we will hold ourselves 
obliged, fair sir, an’ you name it.” 

“ There is at once my errand and my credentials,” said Net- 
terville, as he handed an unsealed document to O’Neill, request- 
ing him to read it aloud. It was a letter from Lord Mountgar- 
ret, president of the Supreme Council, to Sir John Netterville, 
requesting that young knight to ascertain by a journey into the 
northern territories in what state of preparation the chieftains 
were, what aid might be expected from them, and whether Colo- 
nel O’Neill, so long looked for, had as yet arrived to take com- 
mand of the northern army. 

Sir Phelim was about to speak, but Bishop McMahon arose 
and with a dignified gesture motioned him to keep his seat. 

“ IlerOj then. Colonel, is another appointment,” said the Bb 


78 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


shop with a cordial smile; “the Supreme Council, you see, 
hath already fixed on you for the northern leader — Chieftains 
of Ulster, I need not ask if you be of the same mind — the 
Church hath spoken by two of her prelates, the National Coun- 
cil by its President — for you the final decision is reserved — I 
pray you stand up, and whosoever is willing to have Owen Roe 
O’Neill for general of the Ulster forces, will hold up his right 
hand.” 

Instantly all were on their feet, and of all the chieftains pre- 
sent not one refused to hold up his hand save Tirlogh O’Neill, 
for Phelim himself did as all the others, although there was a 
scowl on his brow that portended no good. All eyes w'ere 
turned on the fierce Tanist of Tyrone, but before any one could 
speak, his brother approached him behind and whispered in his 
ear, “ For my sake do it, Tirlogh !” when all at once the sinewy 
hand shot upwards, but the effort was too much for poor Tir- 
logh, and covering his face with his left hand he fairly burst 
into tears, and the stout man sobbed like a petted child. 

More than one of the chieftains manifested a wish to speak to 
the brothers, but the bishop made a sign for them to take no 
notice, and after a moment’s pause he spoke again : 

“ Chieftains, it is well,” said he, “ we are now to consider Co- 
lonel Owen O’Neill as commander-in-chief of all the forces to be 
raised in this province. Duly appointed we hold him to be ” 

“Not yet, my lord,” said a deep voice from the door just 
behind the bishop’s ; “ another word remains to be spoken and 
by me !” 

“ And who are you demanded the prelate, turning quickly 
round to where all eyes were already fixed on a good looking 
young man who had just entered. He was clothed in a Iruis 
and jacket of grass-green hue, with a leather belt encircling his 
finely moulded form, and a glittering skene thrust in behind its 
clasp. On his head was the graceful and becoming harradh, but 
strangely enough his right arm -was encircled above the elbow 
by a broad fillet of the coarsest brown drugget, with a large 
patch right on the front of the arm. 

A shout of welcome recognition from many of the chiefs 
greeted the apparition, while Netterville, approaching Owen Roe, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


'?9 

whispered in his ear : “ Good heavens ! it is our guide of yester- 
day, but how metamorphised !” 

“ I know it,” said O’Neill, “ but, hist! he speaks I” 

“ In the name of the Rapparee force of Ulster, whose un- 
worthy Captain I am, I do hereby give to General Owen Roe 
O’Neill the full and entire command of that body — though I say 
it, he may find their aid most effective, as Sir Con Magennis, Sir 
Phelim, and others of the chiefs will bear witness !” 

To the surprise of all, O’Neill — stranger to the country as he 
might be considered — instead of slighting or mocking at this 
new appointment, advanced to Donogh and took his hand, say- 
ing in all sincerity : 

“ I accept the offer, friend, and will look to your force as one 
of the main supports of our future action ! Acting in conjunction 
with our disciplined forces, you may and will do us good ser- 
vice !” 

Netterville felt much inclined to laugh, but there was that in 
the bearing of the young Rapparee leader, for such Donogh was, 
that, coupled with the respectful manner of O’Neill and the 
chiefs, sobered down even his levity, and placed him on his guard. 
Having said what he deemed necessary, Donogh bowed with an 
air of dignity that surprised Netterville, and quietly resumed the 
place whence he had stepped forward. 



80 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

“The fiery soul abhorr’d in Catiline, 

In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine : 

The same ambition can destroy or save. 

And make a patriot, as it makes a knave.” 

Pope’s Essay on Man, 

“ Tho’ thy slumbers may be deep. 

Yet thy spirit shall not sleep ; 

There are shades that will not vanish. 

There are thoughts thou canst not banish.” 

" ' ’ Byron’s Manfred, 

The Council, or rather the meeting, had not yet broken up, 
when by the side of the Rapparee Captain, where he stood lean- 
ing on the handle of his pike leisurely watching the j)roceedings, 
there appeared another individual similarly dressed and accou- 
tred, with the single exception of the head-gear which, instead 
of the hanging cap worn by Donogh, was a small round cap of 
scarlet cloth, tastefully ornamented with a black feather which, 
as the young Rapparee was wont to boast, had not long before 
shaded the haughty brow of_an English officer, slain by his hand 
in the battle of Kilrush. Having exchanged a silent nod with 
his captain the new-comer calmly waited, as it would seem, tho 
close of the deliberations. Silent they both stood, until Sir Phelim 
had been forced into resigning his authority to his kinsman, 
when the younger of the Rapparees spoke out in a voice so clear 
and distinct that it rang through the vaulted chamber like a 
trumpet : 

“ More than that must you do. Sir Phelim O’Neill ! — the sword 
of the great Hugh rests in your gift — it belongs lo Owen Roe in 
the high decrees of heaven !” 

All eyes were instantly turned on the speaker, and Sir Phelim 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


81 


exclaimed witli a burst of indignation : “ Before God, it is Angus 
Dim, whom I did heretofore so highly favor — I see he hath a 
knack of feigning madness at times — beware, rash youth ! how 
you anger me now, — beware, I tell you ! — for, by the Book ! fal- 
len as you deem me, I will speedily have that dainty head of 
yours hoisted on a pike an’ you address me in such wise — ay, 
though fifty Owen Roes were to the fore !” ) 

“ You shall do as I bid you,” said Angus solemnly, “ and that 
within the hour, or the Green Lady* shall walk under a thick 
veil this night ” 

“ Angus ! Angus ! this to my chief I” cried a reproachful voice 
from behind, and Shamus Beg rushing in breathless caught his 
friend by the neck as though he meant to strangle him. It was 
in love, however, not in anger, as his words proved : “ I told 
you to have nothing to say in it,” said Shamus, while the big 
tears of anguish streamed down his rough cheek ; “ you often 
said you’d do anything in the world for me, and still you wouldn’t 
do this— oh. Angus ! brother of my heart !” and ho grasped his 
two hands and looked steadily in his face, “ how could you for- 
get that what you say to him is said to Shamus V* 

“ I did not forget, Shamus 1” the youth replied with deep feel- 
ing, “ but what Heaven wills man must do — that sword was 

never meant for the hand of Phelim the cruel ” 

“ Angus !” cried Shamus with rising anger, “ I cannot stand 
this — we must fight, an’ the one mother had borne ue, if you 
dare to say such words again !” 

“ Let the boy alone, Shamus,” said Donogh with the quiet 
consciousness of high authority ; “ he hath told us things to come 
many times ere now, and I will not that you cross him in this 
matter, for he knows well what he says, take my word for it !” 
Shamus grumbled a little, but for some reason known to himself 
thought fit to retire without more ado. 

♦ The Green Lady of the O’Neills is, or at least was, a generation 
or so back, well known in the ancient territory of the Hy-Nial. Like 
all the great families of Celtic origin both in Scotland and Ireland, 
the O’Neills had, or were supposed to have, this guardian spirit to 
preside over their destinies. 


82 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


All eyes had been attracted by this strange scene, and many 
of the chiefs smiled to each other as they remembered the former 
meeting which Angus had in like manner interrupted, stemming 
with his single voice the fast-rolling current of their faint-hearted 
fears. Even the bishops looked the anxious curiosity which they 
did not care to express. 

Owen Roe alone manifested neither surprise nor curiosity, 
whatever his inward emotions might have been, although an at- 
tentive observer might have noticed a heightened color on his 
cheek. 

Tirlogh O’Neill, almost beside himself with anger, called upon 
his brother to have the daring intruder committed to the dungeon 
immediately, but Angus only smiled. 

“ Sir Phelim will do no such thing,” said he ; “ he knows my 
words are not of wind — answer me, Phelim MacHenry ! will you, 
or will you not, do as I say P’ 

“Now, by my mother’s honor, boy!” said Sir Phelim with 
passionate warmth, “ you are either mad or something worse. 
How could I give up the sword of Hugh to one who hath the 
bend sinister on his coat of arms'?” 

“ What does he say '?” inquired Angus, whose skill in heraldry 
was evidently but small, yet seeing the alarm which these words 
had excited amongst the chiefs, the uproarious applause where- 
with Tirlogh greeted them, and the perturbation visible for 
the first time on the face of Owen Roe, the youth knew full 
well that their import was of the most serious nature. 

“ He says,” whispered Donogh, guessing the meaning of the 
words from Sir Phelim’s manner, “ he says, what we all know 
for truth, and more’s the pity, that there’s a cross in Owen’s 
blood, and for that reason he couldn’t give him the great Earl’s 
sword I” 

“ Heed him not, chiefs and nobles 1” cried Angus darting for- 
ward, just as Owen had placed himself in front of his kinsman 
with a kindling eye and a blushing cheek ; “heed him not — I 
tell you again Owen Roe must have the sword of Hugh, ay I 
must he, and the holy bishops here present shall bless it for his 
use. Sir Phelim, go fetch the sword hither 1” 

“ I will not — may not — must not !* 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS^ 


83 


“ You shall, and may, and must, as I win prove to you in half 
a dozen words, an’ you will give me private audience for so long 
as I may speak them ! ” 

There was that in the eye, the dark, flashing eye of the young 
Rapparee, as he fixed it full upon him, which made Sir Phelim 
somehow sensible that it was his own interest to give the re- 
quired audience, especially as Donogh said in his calm, impress- 
ive way : 

“ An’ you take ray advice. Sir Phehm, you will do as the lad 
wishes !” 

“ Sir Phelim,” said Owen, stepping before him as he rose 
to leave the room, “ Sir Phelim, you have insulted me in a way 
that, according to the usages of men of honor, blood only could 
expiate — still, as no one here, methinks, will doubt my courage, 
I will not so far forget the sacred precepts of Him whom first of 
all I serve as to bear you ill-will on account thereof ; neither 
would I willingly commence this war, which I consider a holy 
one, by giving an example of dissension, that, too, with one of 
my own blood. It was, however, an unkind cut. Sir Phelim, as 
little honorable to you as to me— go now, cousin, if it so please 
you !” 

Sir Phelim withdrew in some confusion, and during his ab- 
sence little was said, all being equally interested in the result of 
the mysterious interview going on. Ten minutes had scarcely 
elapsed when Sir Phelim returned alono, with the fateful sword 
in his hand, the rich jewels on its hilt flashing up a ghastly light 
on a face from which every tinge of color had vanished. Tirlogh 
jumped from his seat with an exclamation of indignant surprise, 
and reaching his brother with a bound that made his long sword 
clatter in its sheath, he laid his hand heavily on his shoulder. 

“ Phelim ! you shall not do it,” he said vehemently ; “ you dare 
not do it !” 

“Tirlogh! I his brother replied in an under tone; 

“ trouble me not farther, an’ you love me I” And on he marched 
towards the head of the table where he placed the sword before 
the bishops with a poor attempt at a smile. With a heart-break- 
ing sigh poor Tirlogh threw himself on his seat once more ; he 
saw that his brother’s fiery spirit was governed by some stern law 


84 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


of necessity, but his fierce, impetuous nature could not brook 
what he deemed such abject submission, while his strong frater- 
nal aflection dipped the barbed arrow in deadliest poison. 
Still, as he murmured to himself, his chieftain’s will was law, ay ! 
more binding than law could ever be. 

It was a solemn sight to see when the bishops standing, as all 
the chieftains did likewise. Bishop MacMahon called Owen Roe 
before them and delivered to him the sword of Hugh O’Neill. 

“ Take this sword,” said the prelate, “ and use it as becometh 
a Christian soldier, in fair and legitimate warfare against the op- 
pressors of God’s faithful people, never in any selfish or private 
quarrel, nor to do the bidding of passion. Take it and use it 
even as the sword of Gideon was used of old, but see that it be 
with Christian prudence and Christian forbearance, not in anger 
or in malice, lest you sin before God !” 

“ It may be,” observed Bishop M ‘Sweeney, “ that the great 
leader who wielded that weapon so valiantly, was not always as 
mindful as he ought of the jealous God in whose interests ho 
fought, and hence his fall, when all the Catholic world deemed 
him to stand most securely. Profit by that awful warning, 
Owen O’Neill, so that to you it may be given to steer our bark 
to the port of safety, which is civil and religious liberty in this 
realm! Bless you, my son, bless you!” and again he laid his 
hand on the noble head bent before him, for Owen had knelt to 
receive the sword. The Bishop of Clogher imitated the example 
of his reverend brother, and after some further cousultation on 
the military movements to be undertaken, the meeting broke up, 
and the chiefs (due honor being first done to Sir Phelim’s hospi- 
tality) betook themselves to their respective territories to forward 
what men they could for Owen’s new army, the head-quarters of 
which were for the present fixed at Charlemont. 

By that evening’s waning light, Owen Roe and Sir John 
Netterville were pacing together the lofty battlements of the 
Castle, discoursing of many things, and pausing often to enjoy 
the beauty of the evening, both" being unconsciously soothed 
and calmed by the hushed repose of the scene around, and the 
deep shadows settling down on the dark-rolling river below. 
Much was O’Neill interested in the military operations of the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


85 


Southern and Eastern Confederates with whom Nettervilie had 
so long been acting, and he listened with a soldier’s ear to the 
tales which the young Norman knight loved to tell concerning 
the heroic deeds of Dillons and Cusacks, Aylmers* and Barrys, 
and many another fine old family of the English Pale. As the 
moon rose over the towers of the old fortress, throwing their 
shadows far out over the Blackwater, and giving grace and 
beauty to the homely old town of Charlemont, lying just 
beneath the Castle, on its opposite banks, the Irish general and 
the Norman knight leaning over the parapet, beguiled the hour 
with this so pleasant converse. The deep silence of the hour 
was nowise broken by the measured tramp of the sentries on 
the ramparts, and no sound was heard from the town beneath 
save that of 

“ The watch-dog’s voice that bay’d the lisL’ning moon.” 

Many a tale of horror young Nettervilie had told relating to the 
savage butcheries of the miscreant Coote, and O’Neill listened 
with a sickening heart, not always able to repress the natural 
expression of indignation and disgust, although habitually 
guarded in all his words and actions. 

“ For all Sir Phelim’s poor opinion of us, Anglo-Irish,” said 
Nettervilie, ‘-'and though he have no better name for us than 
‘ mongrel hounds,’ we have, putting one thing with another, done 
our fair share of the work since the day of our covenant with 
Roger O’Moore and the other Irish on the hill of Crofty.” 

” Who doubts it, my friend 1” said O’Neill frankly, and he laid 
his hand on the knight’s arm ; ” no, not even my kinsman, 
Phelim, though ho do snarl and snap at times. He is at heart 
too much devoted to the cause not to feel the full value of our 
indebtedness to our gallant brethren of the Pale !” 

” However that be,” replied Nettervilie, “ we ourselves know 
full well that we have had the brunt to bear in many a trying 
hour of peril, when Sir Phelim and his Northmen were far away, 

* Sir Andrew Aylmer, who did good service to the Catholic cause 
during these long wars, was the brother-in-law of the Earl of Ormond, 
having married one ©f his sisters, as Lord Muskerry did another. The 
other two were consecrated to God in holy religion. 


86 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


little thinking of our need. Spanish bred as you are, general, 
you must have heard of Lough Ree of the Shannon.” 

“ Surely yes, Sir John, I know it well by name.” 

“ Well, the islands in the lake, and the Kilkenny* shore ad- 
joining, were, and are still, subject to the powerful house of Dillon, 
who have dotted the land with religious institutions of various 
kinds wheresover their sway extended. Not to speak of the 
noble Abbey on Hare-Island, around whose now mouldering 
walls the departed Dillons sleep in peace, there is, or was, till 
lately, on Saint’s or Nun’s Island, almost within hail of the other, 
a Convent of Poor Clares also founded and protected by the same 
noble fimily. It was a house of refuge to all the poor and dis- 
tressed for miles around on mainland and island, and all men 
<1 -e.ned it safe from the incursions of any of the contending 
parties. So little danger was apprehended, indeed, that, even 
the hereditary protectors of the house thought it nowise neces- 
sary to burden or disturb the good Sisters by placing a garrison 
in or near the convent, and lulled in false security the saintly 
daughters of St. Clare pursued their works of mercy, and dreamed 
away their meditative hours in the still seclusion of their insular 
dwelling. Alas! that so blissful a calm should be so rudely 
broken 1 The good religious were in their chapel chanting the 
Vesper service when a party of English soldiers from the garrison 
of Ballinacloflfy, on the adjoining shore, burst into the Church, 
and — oh, my God ! shut out from mine eyes the scene that fol- 
lowed,” and starting from his half-recumbent posture the young 
nobleman began to pace the rampart to and fro in a fit of un- 
conquerable emotion. 

“ What !” said Owen O’Neill in a choking voice, “ they dared 
to ” 

“ Dared !” cried Netterville, “ dared ! I tell you. General 
O’Neill, they dared to do the work of devils — sooner could I tear 
the tongue from my head than say what they did, but you may 
guess it from my silence. Having glutted their demoniac rage in 
every possible way, the wretches set fire to the convent and 

* This place is situated in the county of Westmeath, and on tho 
eastern borders of Lough Ree. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


87 


marched away, little thinking what was to follow. Oh, virgins 
of the Lord ! they deemed ye unprotected, and as having none 
to avenge your wrongs ” 

A deep groan from Owen Roe made Netterville look towards 
him. His head had sunk between his hands, and his whole 
frame trembled with suppressed emotion, yet he spoke no word, 
perchance could not speak. Before the knight could utter ano- 
ther word, a rough voice spoke out almost at his elbow, and Sir 
Phelim stepped forth from the shade of a buttress into the clear 
moonlight. 

“ It is a piteous tale. Sir John,” he said with the vehemence 
which belonged to his character; “would to God I had been 
there with a score or so of my O’Neills — methinks, an’ we came 
not in time to save the poor nuns, we would settle accounts with 
the devil-begotten Puritans ” 

“ The account was settled,” said Netterville coldly. 

“ How was that I” asked Owen Roe, roused from his painful 
reverie as well by the abrupt appearance of his kinsman as by 
the announcement just made. 

“By whom I” cried Sir Phelim; “ prithee, man, tell us all 
about it ere we lose patience.” 

“ It were ill losing what you never had,” muttered Netter- 
ville to himself, and glancing with a half contemptuous air at 
Sir Phelim, he turned to Owen Roe. 

“ You will be glad to hear. General, that although your valiant 
kinsman here was not within a hundred miles or so of the bleak 
Shannon shore when this black deed was done, Bertie and his 
troopers* escaped punishment none the less. Returning to the 
shelter of their fortress, and being already intoxicated with the 
mad indulgence of their brute passions, the ruffians must needs 
quaff potations deep and long after their day’s work. The usual 
precautions for the safety of the fort were, of course, neglected 
on that night ; even the warder on the walls and the sentry at 

* This fiendish act was perpetrated by a party of soldiers from the 
neighboring castle of Br llynaclofify, under the command of Captain 
Bertie, brother to the Earl of Lindsay. See Brower’s Beauties oj 
Ireland^ vol. 11., p. 246. 


88 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the gate were heavy-headed with much drink and kept their 
posts unheedingly. It v/as just when the orgies within were 
loudest and highest that Hubert Dillon rushed in with some 
eighty or a hundred of his followers, and falling on the ruffianly 
crew of revellers, cut them down without mercy, so that, as chro- 
nicles tell, hardly a man of them escaped. ‘ The mongrel 
whelps,’ Sir Phelim, proved themselves of true blood in that 
hour of retributive justice !” 

“ Marry they did,” quoth Sir Phelim gleefully, “ and for the 
sake of those same Dillons I am content to crave your pardon, 
Sir John Netterville, for any unseemly words that may have 
escaped me. I am a rough spoken man, young sir, and some- 
what hot-blooded, but, i’ faith, I am not the man to keep malice, 
let my enemies say as they will. How now, cousin V* 

But his cousin made no answer, being in fact out of hearing 
of the question, though still within sight. He had followed to the 
other end of the rampart a figure which he had observed in the 
shade behind Phelim’s back, beckoning him to go thither. Hav- 
ing reached the extreme end, at a spot where no sentry was within 
sight or hearing, the figure approached for an instant, and whis- 
pered softly but distinctly : 

“ Be not surprised if you see a ghost this night, and be sure, 
sure that you note well its actions. Keep a light burning in your 
chamber all night. Farewell and God be with you !” 

The speaker was no other than Angus, whose mysterious in- 
fiuence over Sir Phelim Owen had witnessed with surprise. 
Fain would he have detained him a moment, but his faint 
and low “ stay, young man !” was apparently unheard, for An- 
gus came no more. He had glided round a projecting angle, 
and was nowhere to be seen. Nor did Owen Roe see him 
again during his stay at the Castle, which was necessarily of 
some weeks’ duration. 

The entertainment provided by Sir Phelim that evening for 
those whom he regarded as his guests, was worthy of his far- 
famed hospitality. A few of the neighboring chiefs, amongst 
whom was O’Hanlon, had accepted Sir Phelim’s invitation to 
remain for the night, and altogether there were some ten or 
twelve assembled at supper. A jovial party they were, too, and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


89 


well inclined to do honor to the feast before them, with the sin- 
gle exception of Owen Roe who, at all times temperate and even 
abstemious, was on that night graver and more thoughtful even 
than his wont, to the no small surprise of the other guests who 
naturally expected to see him somewhat elated by the flattering 
reception given him, and the auspicious opening of his career in 
Ireland. 

Tirlogh O’Neill, too, was more silent than living man had ever 
seen him, and there was a sullen frown knitting his shaggy brows 
that made one shrink from looking twice at him. More than cnce 
during the evening, he took occasion to renew the subject of Sir 
Phelim’s superseded command in a w*ay that gave infinite alarm 
to the sage O’Hanlon and others of the guests. But they little 
knew the stuff* that Owen Roe was made of when they deemed 
him capable of being provoked to anger by the petulant taunts 
or scoffs of Tirlogh O’Neill. 

“ Here’s to you, Phelimy Roe,”* said Tirlogh, as he raised a 
brimming bumper of the wine of Bordeaux ; “ you’ll still be 
general-in-chief amongst us of Tyr-Owen, any how — and where- 
fore not, I want to know, when King Charles himself, God bless 
him ! gave you full authority in these parts, not to speak of what 
belongs to the OWeill ” — a triumphant glance at Owen Roe gave 
point to the words, but, to Tirlogh’s great surprise, Owen was 
smiling and composed, Phelim abashed and disconcerted. The 
look which the knight gave his brother was expressive of any- 
thing but gratitude or satisfaction, and poor Tirlogh cut but a 
sorry figure as he glanced uneasily from Owen to Phelim and 
from Phelim back to Owen. 

Netterville noting well the relative effect of the words, thought 
it a good joke, although he knew not for his part what it all 
meant. With the natural buoyancy of youth, he exclaimed 
gaily ; “ I would that same commission of Sir Phelim’s was more 
extensively published. We, of the Pale, have heard much con- 


* Sir Phelim O’Neill had also the soubriquet of Roe or red, in allu- 
sion to his florid complexion, bestowed on him by his own and neigh- 
boring clans. By the name of Phelimy Roe he is still spoken of in 
the north country. 


90 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


cerning it, but, I grieve to say, there be many so skeptical as to 
doubt its existence. Nay, be not wroth. Sir Phelim, for, by mine 
honor, I mean no ill — I do but say what I have many times 
heard.” 

“ They lie in their throats,” cried the knight of Kinard leap- 
ing to his feet, his face all on fire with fierce, ungovernable pas- 
sion ; “ I say they lie in their throats who say I have no commis- 
sion from the king. As well might they say there be no king to 
give one.” 

“ Alas ! the day,” said Owen Roe in a dreamy, abstracted tone, 
“ they may have that to say with truth ere long, an’ things go 
on as they do in England. God protect the royal Stuart, for 
surely he is in the hands of the Philistines, though mayhap he 
know not of his danger!” 

“ Let him look to it then,” said O’Hanlon gruffly ; “ he hath been 
playing a double game, and deserves to fall between two stools, as 
the saying is. Double dealing seldom serveth for much good, 
and that same King Charles is full master of that art, or Teague 
O’Hanlon is no true man I” 

“ I like not your speech, fair sir,” said Netterville tartly ; “ the 
faults of a sovereign, an’ he have them like other men, rest be- 
tween him and his God. We Catholic knights and nobles might 
well leave abuse of our liege lord to the cropped-ear’d prigs of 
the Scotch Covenant, whose detestation of ‘ the man^ Charles 
Stuart,^ must needs point him out as the friend of Papists. Nay, 
never look so cold on me, friend Teague,” he gaily added, see- 
ing the chieftain’s face darken, “I have seen you too often at 
the head of your clan fighting ‘ for God and King Charles’ 
lightly to suspect you of disloyal thoughts. Forgive me, O’Han- 
lon, I did but jest !” 

“ More fool he or we to peril life for so faithless a prince,” 
Owen muttered to himself, and then rising he craved Sir Phe- 
lim’s leave to retire on the plea that his health permitted not 
late vigils, 

“ But the commission, General 1” cried Netterville as he shook 
hands across the table with the good-natured O’Hanlon whose 
anger was never either, very violent or of long duration, “ let 
us have a sight of it ere you go 1” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


91 


Sir Phelim expressed his willingness to show it, at the same 
time muttering a curse between his teeth, but Owen begged to 
be excused, saying that another time would do as well for the 
gratification of their common curiosity. 

“An’ you be advised by me, Sir John,” the general added as 
he past his seat, you will follow my example and retire imme- 
diately. Proposing, as you do, to set out betimes in the morning, 
you will need a long night’s rest.” 

With a ready perception of his friend’s motive, the young Nor- 
man gracefully declared his willingness, and, after some faint ob- 
jections from their host, both were shown to their respective 
apartments, Netterville by Tirlogh, Owen O’Neill by Sir Phelim 
himself. 

It was the best sleeping-room in the Castle that in wdiich Owen 
was lodged, and albeit that curiosity had but a very small share 
in his composition, he certainly did make a brief inspection of 
the spacious chamber with its old-fashioned furniture, even be- 
fore he knelt to perform his nightly devotions. The room was 
curiously wainscotted with Irish oak, black and polished as 
ebony; the large mirror, surmounting an antique toilet-table, 
was framed in the same, and the narrow, high-backed chairs 
and the four-posted bed with its canopy of rich crimson velvet, 
all were in perfect keeping one with the other, so that the cham- 
ber, rich and tasteful as it was, had a gloomy and somewhat 
ghostly look. Still the bed looked so tempting, with its cool, 
fresh, snowy linen, that the general gave himself little trouble 
about the sombre character of the place, and, leaving the lamp 
burning on the table, according to the mysterious instructions 
of the young Kapparee, he lost no time in seeking repose. 
Much he wondered at the singular warning given him by Angus, 
although so far was he from attaching any importance to it that 
he laughed at the bare idea of a ghostly visitation. 

He had been some hours asleep, and the niglit was already 
far spent, when his light slumbers were broken by the door 
creaking on its rusty hinges, and starting up on his elbow, he 
saw crossing the floor a tall figure in a short white garment 
barely reaching below the knee. The- lower limbs were bare, 
and brawny limbs they were, to be sure; no wonder that they 


92 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


should, gentle reader, for the sinewy limbs and the thick head 
of reddish, curling hair and the massive features were those of 
the real, substantial Phelimy Koe, the knight of Kinard himself, 
walking in his sleep, and no spirit, as Owen saw at a glance, 
and seeing, he smiled. 

The eyes of the figure were wide open, and, at first sight, 
would appear fixed on the opposite corner of the room, whither 
the naked feet were turning their steps. But no, there was no 
consciousness, all the motions were mechanical. 

Owen, as may well be imagined, watched the figure with 
curious eyes. Not that he remembered Angus’s injunction at 
the moment, but from the natural impulse of curiosity. Walk- 
ing slowly to that corner of the room which was concealed from 
Owen’s view by the foot-hangings of the bed. Sir Phelim ap- 
proached a tall, old-fashioned escrutoire which had hitherto 
escaped the general’s notice. The latter, leaning from his bed, 
now eagerly watched the motions of the somnambulist, who, 
having slowly raised the lid of the antique desk, began groping 
and fumbling through the secret drawers and shelves within, 
muttering drearily to himself as he did so, and shaking his head 
as one grievously disappointed. 

“Gone! gone!” he said in a voice loud enough for Owen to 
hear, “gone to the grave and the worms, mayhap, with old 
Toby Caulfield. I would I had it to convince these prying 
churls — they say I forged it, but they lie, — they lie — I forged 
it not — thou canst bear me witness, old lord, an’ thy spirit be 
anywhere here — ^but stay — let me whisper — tell not that hypo- 
critical, long-faced kinsman of mine — tell him not the cun- 
ning device whereby I tricked the chiefs and people into belief. 
Ay ! it was a pretty conceit — thou sayest well — an’ what if I 
did borrow that old deed of thine, or rather the seal, for mine 
own use — the end was a good one, and thou, stern old royalist 
as thou ever wert, could not anywise object to it, seeing that 
we he the king’s liege subjects, deny it who may ! — go to, old 
man, name not the murder to me — of that I am guiltless, any- . 
how, — as God liveth I am. For the other, it is done, and cannot 
be undone— only keep it from Owen Roe — the secret of this 
unlucky commission, and all will go well — -it were a thick veil 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


93 


surely on the face of the Green Lady, the disgrace which that 
disclosure would bring on our house. The boy is right — it must 
be avoided — come what may !” 

So saying, he closed the desk with a heavy sigh or rather 
groan, and crossing the floor without turning to the right hand 
or the left, glided from the room as noiselessly as a spirit. 

What Owen learned from all this we can but guess, for his 
thoughts on the subject he kept to himself then and ever after. 



94 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ Love will find its way 
Thro’ paths where wolves would fear to prey.” 

Bykon’s G-iaout 


“ How little do they see Avhat is, who give 
Their hasty judgments upon that which seems'* 

SoUTUKTv 

Nearly the same July sun that gilded the green pennon of 
Owen Roe when its folds first rustled in the sea-breeze over the 
keep of Doe Castle, saw the long-imprisoned chieftains of Fer- 
managh and Uriel brought forth from the cells where their eyes 
had almost forgotten how to look and their limbs how to walk. 
Silently, and, as it were, stealthily, their prison-doors were 
opened, and guarded on either side by a soldier, each was led 
forth bound and manacled. Again, after the lapse of nine 
weary months, the friends looked upon each other, and oh ! the 
thousand, thousand thoughts to which that glance gave utter- 
ance. It was but for a moment, however, that this mute inter- 
change of feeling lasted, for a troop of cavalry and a whole bat- 
talion of infantry were in waiting to receive the prisoners from 
the Constable of the Castle, whose duty it was to give them up. 

“ By my faith,” said McMahon with a melancholy smile as ho 
noted the imposing array, “ by my faith, Connor, we be no such 
pitiful wights after all. This guard of honor surely befitteth 
rather our birth and former estate than the beggarly rags of our 
present livery. What think you, brother in misfortune "I Doth 
it not seem over much respect for two ragged jail-birds like our- 
selves V’ And casting his eyes down over the tattered remains 
of his once gay costume, he laughed lightly and scornfully. 
Maguire acknowledged the witticism of Ins friend by a faint smile 


, THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


95 


and an admonitory gesture, but word spoke he none. His more 
pliant, and (it might be) more susceptible mind, had lost its 
former spring and assumed the gloomy cast of surrounding ob- 
jects ; dull and spiritless, and, to all appearance, dead to hope 
was the once haughty chieftain of Fermanagh, his fine counten- 
ance pale, and wan, and haggard, his long brown hair matted 
and dishevelled. It w'ere hard, indeed, to recognize in him the 
gay, good-humored, and ever-attractive Lord Maguire of our 
earlier acquaintance, the proud and sensitive, yet warm-hearted. 
Oh ! it was a sad sight to look upon that wreck of manly beauty 
and high estate, and to think of the cause for which he suffered, 
the cause of eternal truth and justice. McMahon, more robust 
in body and more stubborn in mind, had also a mercurial light- 
ness of heart which no amount of suffering could altogether 
subdue, and with these peculiar characteristics he had borne up 
like a giant under the pressure of his hard lot. True, his cheek 
had lost its roundness, and with it the fresh color borrowed from 
the “ breezy heath” of his native Uriel; neither had his clear 
blue eye the same mirthful twinkle as in former days, though its 
light was still unquenched, and its bold, free look ever the same. 
The garments of both were, as poor McMahon’s jest indicated, 
sadly the worse for wear, being identically the same in which 
they were captured so many months before. 

Sir Francis Willoughby, Governor of the Castle, quickly made 
his appearance on a balcony, and gave the stern order to 
“ march !” 

“ March !” repeated McMahon, “ where to, I pray you, good 
sir 1 That question have we asked full often since the order 
reached us, but as yet no man hath made us the wiser.” 

“ It boots ye little to know,” replied the stern governor, “ the 
knowledge may come over soon. Captain Hardy, the hour hath 
struck — move on, sir !" 

“ Not yet, Sir Francis, an’ it please you,” said a voice un- 
heard before ; it was that of one of Coote’s troopers, who, dash- 
ing into the court-yard at full speed, delivered a message from 
Sir William Parsons, then on a visit at Blackrock, to the effect 
that the prisoners were to be remanded to their cells for half 
an hour’s space, or an hour, if needful. 


96 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ For what purpose, knowest thou V' demanded Willoughby. 

“ It hath pleased the Lord Justice to impart so much know- 
ledge unto mre,” the young soldier replied, touching his morion 
at the same time in military style ; “ rumors have reached him 
that the Lord Maguire here present hath of late manifested 
more loyal sentiments, and, desirous ot encouraging any such 
laudabl‘3 dbposiCions on the part of these pestilent rebels, he, of 
his great wisdom and clemency, sendeth hither the worshipful 
and godly gentleman. Master Osee J udkin?, with intent to learn 
by private converse, from either or both prisoners, in what way 
they stand affected now towards the righteous cause.” 

At this MclNIahon laughed outright, and Maguire was just on 
the point of uttering an indignant denial of any such change as 
that ascribed to him, when a voice, barely audible to himself, 
whispered at his side in Irish: “Let them think so — say no- 
thing” — and passing him like a shadow swept the dark-robed, 
Dutch-built figure of Master Osee Judkins, for whom the sol- 
diers made way right and left, till, arrived opposite the balcony, 
he posted himself in front of the Governor, and thus delivered 
himself : 

“ May it please you, Francis Willoughby, to send back these 
recusants to their respective places for one hour, or less, as the 
case may be, until such time as I have ascertained to the satis- 
faction of that righteous ruler, William Parsons, what change 
may have taken place in their traitorous a^d bloody dispositions. 
It hath pleased the Lord to afflict him this morning with a 
grievous fiuxj by reason of which he may not venture abroad.” 

Hearing this McMahon laughed heartily : “ Pray Heaven,” 
said he, “ all the evil humors of the man may find vent in that 
same flux !” 

A stern rebuke from Judkins only made the reckless Ulster- 
man laugh the more, and he was about to say something not 
very complimentary to any concerned, when the harsh, loud 
voice of Willoughby arrested his attention : 

“Remand the prisoners for an hour — give Master Judkins 
access to them separately in their cells. Captain Hardy will 
send a messenger to delay the ship for the time specified.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


9T 


“ Ship!” repeated McMahon; “are you sending us, then, be- 
yond seas — mayhap it be to England !” 

“ I see you are as good at guessing as at portrait-painting. 
Master Irishman,” said Hardy advancing, “ but no more talk, 
an’ you are a wise man, — ^soldiers, take them in, but^ remain 
here under arms !” 

If any one looked around at that moment for the trooper who 
had brought Sir William’s message, it would have seemed as 
though he vanished into thin air, although the presence of his 
horse fastened to a post at the rear of a sentry-box might, had 
he been observed, have suggested the idea that the rider must 
be still about the premises. 

Little recked the bold trooper though his horse were seen, for 
in attendance on Master Jadkins he had passed on to the inte- 
rior of the Castle, on and on, even to the cells wherein the 
friends were again lodged, heavily ironed as they were. 

What passed between Master Judkins and Maguire is not 
ours to tell, but the success of the embassy may be inferred 
from the fact that after a conference of some fifteen or twenty 
minutes, carried on in so low a tone that the trooper listening 
without could not catch a word of it, Maguire all at once burst 
forth into what appeared a perfect frenzy of indignation, and 
the worshipful and godly Osee Judkins called loudly for help. 
The turnkey, also waiting without, hastened to open the door, 
none too soon, it appeared, for the bodily safety of Sir William’s 
ambassador, threatened with a blow from the chained hands of 
Maguire which might, as he justly feared, have sent him to the 
shades below. 

“Secure tliis madman,” said Judkins in breathless trepida- 
tion ; “ he will hear nothing from me — nothing, nothing — the 
other may be more reasonable — him will I try as in duty bound, 
—but, alas !”— and he sighed heavily— “ I much fear the result 
will be the same — perverse and unregenerate are they all — all — 
alack! alack! for the siufuh bonds that hold them fast in the 
evil way !” 

“ Out, out upon you, canting knave !” cried the wrathful 
chieftain ; “ an’ I had you within reach of my arm, your prating 
were cut short, I tell you !— ay, marry, go to McMahon, with 
15 


98 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


your iMous twaddle, — ^he will teach you to go errands for Par- 
sons — and to us ! — off with you !” 

“I pray you, good fellow,” quoth the agitated Judkins, “show 
me with speed to the lodging of the other — an’ ho be not more 
tractable than this individual, my mission will profit William 
Parsons but little. 0 Kome! Rome! Babylon the new! how 
fearful are the spells of thy foul magic!” 

And groaning piteously the good man betook himself to tho 
cell occupied by McMahon at no great distance, the turnkey 
walking before. By some curious oversight that functionary 
forgot to turn the key on Maguire, or perchance he deemed the 
presence of the fierce-looking soldier better than bolt or bar. 
It so happened that Coote’s terrible troopers were at that parti- 
cular time a portion of the city garrison, so that they were often 
on guard about the Castle, and might, therefore, be almost indi- 
vidually known to the officials. However it was, the young sol- 
dier was left alone at the door of Maguire’s cell, and, to that 
nobleman’s great surprise, the footsteps of the others had hardly 
died away when he addressed him in a low, tremulous voice, 
drawing his sword at the same time so as to deceive prying 
eyes : 

“ Connor Maguire, they are taking you to England, fearing 
a rescue.” 

“ Ha, then, an’ such be their fear,” said the chieftain, a flush 
of joy sufiasing his pale face, “ it denotes strength and success 
on our part— accept my thanks, oh Heaven !” 

Much affected by this utter forgetfulness of self, the soldier's 
voice trembled still more when he spoke again: “But you ask 
not who I am that come to you in friendship under such guise 
as this,” pointing to tho ball-coots* curiously emblazoned on his 
scarlet doublet. “ Ay, look well at me — look into mino eyes — is 
^their language that of a foe I” 

Maguire started and drew back a pace: “What — the lady 
Emmeline here, and in such wise bedight !” 

“ Heed not the fashion of my garments, Connor Maguire, but 
hearken to the words which I have perilled all to speak. Hast 

* The well-known cognizance of the Coote family. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


99 


heard from the gentleman just gone how matters stand with the 
Confederates, which name I hear hath been assumed by those of 
your party 'i” 

“ Little or nothing did that gentleman tell me of what I so 
much desire to know — other business brought him here.” 

“ Ay, marry, I guessed as much,” said the disguised fair one 
with a strange smile ; “ well, then, hear me ; the Catholics are 
everywhere up in arms, save only in Galway, where Lord Clan- 
rickarde had power to hold them to their good behavior.” 

“God confound him !” Maguire exclaimed through his closed 
teeth. 

“ For shame, my lord, to. speak so of so honorable a noble- 
man ! — ^but let it pass ; your Church hath at last declared openly 
for the Confederates.” 

“ That is well !” 

“ And, as I hear, blessed their arms ” 

“ Better still — what more — what of this Council of Kilkenny 
that I have heard derided and scoffed at by the jailors V* 

“ It consisted of the bishops and many lay-lords — they 
appointed local and provincial councils all over the land, with 
one Chief, or Supreme Council, as they term it, to which all the 
others are subject. Many other laws and regulations were en- 
acted, but I know them not, or could take time to tell them an’ 
I did. One thing I know : Lord Mountgarret is President of the 
Supreme Council——” 

» Humph !” 

“And a general assembly of the estates — so* the phrase goes — 

is to meet again in October in the same city ” 

“ It is very well ! The Normans of the Pale are heartily into 
the matter 

“ Heartily ! — good sooth they are, as I could testify, did time 
permit — suffice it to say, they are, as it would seem, almost to a 
man, head and ears implicated in the rebellion — between them 
and the old Irish much hath been done for the cause which you 
affect — the greater part of Munster is in their hands, so, too, 

with Connaught ” 

“ But what of the North V 
“ Rebellion begins to raise its head again ’ 


100 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Ay, I was duly informed here,” said Maguire bitterly, “ that 
the great Ulster army was broken up and the chiefs hiding in 
holes and comers — what hath wrought such a change V* 

“ The arrival of a certain Colonel O’Neill from Flanders or 
somewhere there — at least so they say here in Dublin !” 

“ What! Owen RoeT’ cried Maguire with joyful eagerness. 

“ I believe they call him so.” 

“Now, God be praised for that news,” ejaculated the chieftain 
fervently — and he raised his tearful eyes to heaven. “ Phelim, 
I know, would do his best,” he murmured to himself, “ but ho 
was not — is not the man to marshal a host and keep men to- 
gether,” — then raising his voice he said, “ accept my thanks, 
fair Emmeline 1” > 

“ I admire your patriotism,” said the lady with a faint blush 
on her delicate cheek ; “ and your thanks are valued as they 
ought, but in this last sad hour — moment I should say — when 
discovery may be my death, and yours may be nearer than you 
think — are we to part as ever before V 

“ Emmeline,” said the chieftain with a quivering lip and a 
downcast eye, “ daughter of our enemy ! what wouldst thou have 
me say V' 

“ Alas I Connor, that parent of mine who was thine enemy is 
beneath the sod, the other is thy friend, and the enemy of no 
living creature.” 

“ Your father dead ! — Sir Charles Coote dead ! How 7 — when 1” 

“ I may not, cannot tell thee now — moments are too precious 
—say only, ere we part, most likely, for ever, dost thou still re- 
gard Emmeline Coote in no other light than as the daughter of 
a foeman 7” 

Maguire bit his lip till it was colorless as his cheek, but no 
word of answer came. 

“ Say I” resumed the lady with that startling vehemence which 
now and then marked her manner, “ say, Connor Maguire, am I 
still an enemy? — I who, with intent to serve thee, have laid 
aside full many and many a time the garments of my maiden- 
hood and donned such unwomanly vesture as to make my cheek 
burn with shame — 1 who have braved danger, ay 1 and death, 
even on the field whore death was rifest, watching and waiting 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


101 


for some turn of affairs favorable to your chance of escape — I 
who have closed mine ears to the voice of love and looked coldly 
on the best and bravest when they bent before me — I who am 
here— — within these fated walls to look once more upon 
your face and win a word of kindness from your lips before they 
take you hence ” 

“ But whither do they take us, Emmeline 1 — tell me that, I 
implore thee !” 

“ Whither but to England, to London, most like to the Tower 
to await a trial.’* ' 

“ It is well,” said the chief, drawing himself up proudly, “ it 
is well they deem us of so great importance, but as for trying us 
in England, that they may not, dare not do — such trial were 
mockery !” 

“ I tell thee, Connor, they will do and dare all things — law is 
as nought in their hands, for their will is the law in this land, 
this party of the Parliament — but answer my question Avhile 
time pennits — already in the distance I hear heavy footsteps — an’ 
they have time to return from Blackrock, whither, I know, they 
have sent, we are all lost. Is thy heart still hardened towards 
her who hath watched at the door of this thy dungeon, ay ! the 
long night through, sharing thine anguish though all unknown to 
thee — dost thou still regard her as an enemy, the daughter of a 
hated race, who hath never regarded thee but as the preserver 
of her life 1” 

It seemed as though a sudden pang here seized upon the lady’s 
heart for all at once she stopped and turned ghastly pale. Ma- 
guire saw the change with alarm — he knew not that it was the 
sting of conscience which quivered in her heart, as hateful mem- 
or}’’ recalled the night of his arrest and the part which the un- 
bridled spirit of revenge had made her play. But the generous 
heart of Maguire was never prone to suspicion, and her ominous 
threat on that fatal night, and the scathing mockery of her 
greetinjr subsequent to his capture were at that moment forgot- 
ten — her love, wild, passionate, and unquenchable, was alone 
remembered. 

For a moment he stood irresolute in accordance with the usual 
indecision of his character, but a glance at the beautiful eyes so 


102 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


intently fixed upon him, and the trembling eagerness expressed 
in every perfect feature of the face before him, at once unsealed 
his lips and sent a warm glow to his sunken cheek. 

“ Emmeline,” said he, “ this is neither the hour nor the place 
to make professions which in my case were but empty sounds. 
This only will I say” — he paused — glanced again at the bright- 
ening orbs to whose witchery he had never been insensible, and 
went on in quick, hurried accents : “This only will I say — I am 
not — nor ever was — ungrateful, and were I still Chieftain of Fer- 
managh — ruling as a prince the broad domains of my fathers, 
instead of a poor, despised, ragged captive far from home and 
friends — then should the Lady Emmeline hear from me, wliat 
now were shame to speak — go, too lovely and too loving ! — fair- 
est of Saxon maidens ! go — Cleave me — forget Maguire, and bo 
happy !” 

“ Oh Heaven ! I thank thee,” murmured the lady with pas- 
sionate fervor, and the tears, so long pent-up, streamed unheeded 
down her peachy cheeks ; “ for this moment have I lived, and 
even death were welcome now, could we but die together. But 
no — he shall be saved, come what may. Connor Maguire, this 
moment repays me for all — all I have suffered, all I have done. 
But enough hath been said. We must act now. Here, divest 
thyself quickly of those garments and don these !” — and tearing 
off her doublet and trunk hose she flung them into the cell, 
without changing her own costume in aught, for duplicates of 
the articles aforesaid appeared underneath. “ Leave your tat- 
tered vesture in the cell,” whispered Emmeline, “and come 
forth as quick as may be !” So saying she retired some paces 
from the door, and drawing her long sabre anew, took to pacing 
to and fro in the passage as though on guard. 

“ Emmeline,” whispered the chief, “ what is thy purpose ?— 
explain, if thou wouldst have me do thy bidding !” 

“ I would save thee — or die with thee — ^haste — haste !” 

“ But how % What wouldst thou do V' 

“ Clothe myself in thy cast-off garments and remain in thy 
place !” 

“ And 1 1” 

“ Will escape as Coote’s trooper an’ thou delay not too long !” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


103 


“ Nevor, never,” cried the generous chieftain, with the air of 
one not to be moved from his purpose ; “ never, and leave thee 
for a victim. Begone, Emmeline, this moment begone — for me 
there is no hope — but thou — oh, fly ! fly ! an’ thou lovest me !” 

“ It is too late— oh, Connor 1 Connor !” 

“ Hast said thy say to the prisoner, young sir 1” demanded 
the deep, authoritative voice of the turnkey, who at that moment 
appeared with the respectable Judkins, the latter crest-fallen 
and silent, doubtless the effect of his double disappointment ; 
“ hast said thy say, for the hour is all but expired, and both 
must be given up on the instant-^ — ” 

With a heavy sigh and a despairing look at the object of her 
romantic passion, ere the door was closed upon him, the fair 
Emmeline sheathed her sword, and followed the official. • Master 
Osee Judkins brought up the rear, muttering to himself words 
that to a practised ear would have sounded strangely like Latin, 

• with this interpretation ; 

“ Give them help, 0 Lord, from Thy holy place, and from Sion 
protect them !” 

Reaching the courtyard, and questioned by Willoughby him- 
self as to the success of his mission, the grave gentleman shook 
his head sadly, observing that the great clemency of his patron, 
William Parsons, was, in the case of these recreants, thrown away 
—literally pearls thrown before swine, “ the which, thou know- 
est, Francis, is set down as folly in the Book of books.” 

But Willoughby was in no mood to descant on Scriptural 
philosophy, and he roughly admonished the “reverend seignor” 
to betake him whence he came, without more ado, 

“ I’ll warrant me thou art some newly-arrived place-hunter 
'from beyond the Channel,” said he, “ arraying thyself in the 
solemn garb of the covenant the better to hunt down a good 
fat quarry here amongst the Irishry — go to, old meddler, — or 
rather, look to him, soldiers, till my messenger return. Mean- 
while, bring forth the prisoners once more, waiting the Lord 
Justice’s will in their regard !” 

Great was the consternation of all present when the messenger 
returning stated that Sir William Parsons had entered into no 
negotiations with the prisoners, nor had sent any message to 


104 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


them whatsoever, hut was, on the contrary, exceedingly wroth 
that their shipment had been delayed on such pretence. He, 
moreover, commanded Willoughby to look closely after the 
audacious impostors, who must have had some treasonable motive 
for such an act. 

' Orders were instantly issued for the gates to be closed and 
the traitors secured, but alas ! Judkins was gone — the place that 
knew him late, knew him now no more, and equally vain was 
the search for “ Coote’s trooper,” horse and man had both van- 
ished, none could tell how. 

In the utmost trepidation. Sir Francis sent once more for the 
prisoners, doubtless fearing that their mysterious visitors had 
kidnapped both of them, by means of some Popish glamoury 
or other. To his great relief they were speedily brought forth, 
and without further delay were placed in the centre of the 
column and marched to the Bridge-foot, where the good ship 
Royal Charles waited to receive them. 

“ Fare thee well. Sir Francis !” cried McMahon at parting ; 
“ I commend to thy favor the worshipful and godly Osee Judkins 
— an’ thou takest a friend’s advice, thou wilt send him on an 
embassy to the Council of Kilkenny.’ 

“ Sirrah, dost thou dare to mock me V vociferated Willoughby. 

“ Sirrah in thy teeth, Willoughby ! I defy thee !” 

These were the last words poor McMahon spoke on Irish soil, 
for the armed minions of the government tore him away, and 
when the final moment came he was dragged with his friend on 
board the ship ; his heart was too full for parting speech. 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


105 


\ 

CHAPTER VIII. 

“ Shout for tho mighty men, 

Who died along this shore — 

Who died within this mountain’s glen I 
For never nobler chieftain’s head 
Was laid on valor’s crimson bed, 

Nor ever prouder gore 
Sprang forth than theirs who won the day 
Upon thy strand, Thermopylse !” 

Rev. George Cboly. 

“ Tho’ gentle in her bearing, yet, of all the rude crew there. 

Not one would dare uncourteously to treat that lady fair.” 

Owen Roe was at all times an early riser, and on the morning 
following the ghostly visitation related in a preceding chapter 
he was out reconnoitering the vicinity of the Castle, and the 
town of Charlemont, long before the roseate glow of the dawn 
had faded from the eastern sky. With the practised eye of a 
military leader he had noted every brake, and bush, and knoll on 
either side of the river, in anticipation of some future occasion, 
and having traversed the narrow limits of the town, making 
observations as he went, he was hurrying along through the de- 
serted little main street, anxious to reach the Castle before the 
inhabitants began to stir, when a blithe voice hailed him from the 
river side with a gay “ God save you. General !” 

“ And you, too,” O’Neill responded with right goo(J will as the 
young Rapparee Captain gained his side from the bank whose 
hawthorn hushes had concealed him. 

“ You’re early out, I’m proud to see,” observed Donogh ; 
“ Commanders like you and me,” he added with an arch smile, 
“ should never let the sun catch them a-hed. Now that’s ont 
thing Sir Phelim had need to learn if he ever means to do much 


106 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

for king or country. He’s entirely too fond of the bed, General, 
not to speak of something else that's just as bad— or worse”— 
and he made a motion of his hand as though draining a goblet. 

Although convinced in his heart that there was but too much 
truth in what the young man said, still Owen O’Neill was not 
the man to encourage such discourse from a mere stranger. 

“ Excuse me, friend,” he said in a film but very gentle tone ; 
“ Sir Phelim, thou knowest, is my kinsman, and being so, I 
would rather not hear of his faults — if faults he have. This 
Castle is a place of some strength, but I perceive it stands in need 
of some repairs.” 

“ Ay, for the reasons I told you of,” replied Donogh, “ your 
honorable kinsman hath not done much to strengthen it.” 

“ Knowest thou the exact strength of the Scotch in these parts 1” 
O’Neill asked abruptly. 

“ It were hard to say,” the Rapparee replied in a voice so 
unsteady that the General looked at him with surprise, and was 
amazed to see every feature of his comely face in convulsive 
motion ; “ pardon me, General,” he said, or tried to say, but fur- 
ther he could not go. 

“But why this agitation, young friend 1” O’Neill anxiously 
inquired. 

“ One day thou shalt know all,” was the faint reply, “ ay ! 
and mayhap before long, but ask no farther now. General,” he 
said with a sudden change of manner as a new idea struck him; 
“ General, wouldst wish to see our lodgment in the woods, and 
make acquaintance with my comrades 1” 

“ Methinks I would,” O’Neill replied after a short pause, 
“ provided they knew not of my coming — I would see them in 
their ordinary life.” 

“ Thou shalt see them, then.” 

“ What, now 1 Is your encampment, then, so near 1 

“ I said not wow,” said Donogh with recovered composure ; 
“ night will best show you what manner of men they be who 
follow my banner” — again he smiled — “ so an’ it pleaseth thee, 
noble sir, to come with me for some hours when the shades of night 
cover the earth, I wll show thee what knight or noble never 
saw save those of our own blood !” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


107 


“ Thanks, good friend,” said the General ; “ I will gladly take 
thee at thy word. We part here, I think, or art bound like 
myself for the Castle 7” 

“ Truly yes,” laughed the Rapparee ; “ I mean to break my 
fast at Sir Phelim’s expense — this musket of mine” — pointing to 
the one which hung over his shoulder — “ hath brought down 
nothing this morning yet. But, tell me, General, and excuse 
me, an’ I make over free — what thinkest thou ol that gay Nor- 
man knight who left here yester-mom T’ 

“ Marry, he seemeth a gallant gentleman, and well affected 
towards the good cause. More I know not of him. But thou, 
Donogh, if such be thy name,” the Rapparee nodded, “thou 
and he had met before — what of him 1” 

“ In sooth I know but little,” the young man replied, “ but 
that little would make me fearful of trusting him too far. Not 
that I would doubt him now, for he is, as thou sayest, a gallant 
gentleman, and his father, the old Lord Netterville, I have seen 
dealing heavy blows with his own good sword on some of Or- 
mond’s fellows at that unlucky pass of Mageny ; but still. Gen- 
eral, I would not trust the son while he turned on his heel ” 

“ And wherefore not, Donogh I” 

“ Why, an’ it please you. General, there’s a lady in the way, 
and hard fortune to them for ladies ! but it’s they that keep the 
world in hot water, anyhow ! Now, this Sir John Netterville 
suspects — and, between you and me, I think he’s not far wrong — 
that the beautiful lady he has an eye on, thinks more of Lord 
Maguire than she does of him — didn’t you see how the venom 
was spewing out of him when the O’Cahan ladies told how the 
young chief saved her life T’ 

O’Neill nodded assent. “ Well, then,” resumed Donogh, 
“ when the black drop is in him that way, it will show itself 
maybe when you least think it. If ever the Lord of Fermanagh 
gets out of prison, an’ that lady and he come together — which 
God in Heaven forbid, — for she comes of a rascally breed — then 
I wouldn’t give a snap of my finger for Sir John Netterv file’s 
good will towards us Irish.” 

“ There may be something in what you say, friend,” said 
O’Neill with a thoughtful brow, for he was thinking how Judith, 


108 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


too, had warned him on this head ; “ in any case, this young 
knight is not, or never may he, subject to my command — our 
paths are widely different, Donogh. But hark! the trumpet 
from the walls — to rouse the garrison, most like.” 

The lady-moon had not yet showed her silver disk above the 
horizon that night when Owen Roe O’Neill and his trusty guide, 
having crossed the bridge at Charlemont, and traversed the then 
scarcely formed village of Moy, sped on their way with light- 
some step through the heathy moors of Tyrone, in the direction 
of Benburb, following the course of the river. Little conversation 
had passed between the two, for O’Neill was busy with his own 
thoughts and speculations, and Donogh, through respect, kept 
some paces in advance. Reaching the old Castle of Benburb, even 
then a gray ruin lone and unlovely, untenanied save by the 
bird of night, Owen Roe suddenly stopped and fixed his eyes 
on the old fortalice. Grand and commanding it looked, seated 
high on its rocky throne, with its solitary tower and its shattered 
outworks clearly reflected in the winding stream, while the 
moonlight brought out in strong relief the Cyclopean structure 
of the time-worn and war-worn edifice.* 

“ What building is this I” demanded the General. 

“ That — oh ! that is Benburb Castle,” the guide carelessly re- 
plied; “ I thought you knew it, General.” 

“ I guessed as much,” said O’Neill, his eyes wandering eagerly 
over the storied scene. “ In dreams,” he murmured as if to 
himself, “ 1 have visited ere now the Blackwater’s banks — Ben- 
burb, and Portmore, and the Yellow Ford are as places I have 
often seen. Ay I surely that is Benburb Castle, even such as 
I saw it in a vision of the night when the great Hugh stood be- 
fore me and uttered words concerning this nation which mortal 
lips may not speak again.” 

“ Good Lord I” said Donogh to himself, and he moved some 
steps away ; “ good Lord I he’s talking to the ghost of Hugh 

* This ancient stronghold of the O’Neills is composed entirely of 
huge boulders, apparently from the river’s bed, joined by no cement 
of any kind. This peculiarity of construction gives Benburb Castle 
a look of still greater antiquity than it really possesses. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


109 


O’Neill, — and may be it isn’t right for me to stay so near. In God’s 
name 1 'will, though, for sure I promised to take him to the wood, 
and I’m bound to keep my word. Blessed Mary ! what a tongue 
he has when he comes to use it ! Now I’m sure Phelimy Roe 
could no more discourse that way than he could fly. I’ll move 
a little farther, anyhow, for sure if I heard the spirit’s voice it 
was all over with me. Still, if I could only catch one word from 
the great O’Neill of all — even if he he a ghost — but no — no — if 
the voice froze my blood and the heart in my body, who would 
do what / have to do — what must be done 1 Sure it isn’t a poor 
gersha that would do it P’ > ^ 

Thus soliloquizing, Donogh leaned his arm on a broken wall, 
and, keeping his eye on the General, to see that no harm befel 
him, he sank into a train of thought, very bitter and very pain- 
ful, judging by the contortions of his usually mild face, and the 
lurid light which flashed at times from under his darkly frowning 
brow. 

Meanwhile, O’Neill stood contemplating the Castle and the 
river, and the river’s banks. Lost in the thick-coming memories 
of the past, the glories of his warlike ancestors, the tales of their 
noble achievements, drank in his earlier years from the lips of 
his exiled father, these, with the old, old story of the nation’s 
wrongs and the people’s sufferings, all came rushing on his mind, 
and, bowing his stately head, as though under the influence of 
some mighty presence, he stood motionless as a statue. 

“ And this is the Blackwater I” he said within himself, 
“ the frontier-line of the land of Owen, the impassable barrier 
against southern raid, the boundary which Saxon might not 
cross and. live ! — the river which hath witnessed, above all others, 
the heroic deeds of the sons of Nial — thou — thou — old stream, 
the god-made threshold of their broad domains — thou reflectest 
to my mind, as clear as in a mirror, the martial exploits of Hugh, 
and Shane, and Donald of illustrious memory,* and many an- 

* Tho valorous exploits of poor Shane O’Neill against the myrmi- 
dons of English oppression are well known to most readers, and the 
Donald here mentioned was the same who, in a preceding reign, 
treated as a royal sovereign with the Spanish monarch, soliciting aid 
for J '>Zaud. 


110 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


other princely chief of my race who upheld in his day the cause 
of country and religion. Oh river, now so bright in the fair 
moon’s ray, well have the Saxons named thee Blade* for a black 
stream hast thou been to them. Ha ! ha ! thou art not yet so 
black as thou shalt be, an’ God spare me life. An’ it be given 
me to rule this land and this people, there remain yet other 
pages of thy story to be turned over, oh stream so fateful to the 
children of Nial! And thou, crumbling relic of our house’s 
greatness, weird witness from the past, I greet thee with respect. 
Should success attend mine efforts, thy age shall be renewed — 
thou shalt grow young again like the eagle, and thy now de- 
fenceless walls bristling with the captured cannon of the enemy, 
t’'ou shalt, as of old, keep watch and ward over the passes of 
the river. Fare thee well, Benburb ! my heart is stirred within 
me, I know not why, as I look upon thee, and my soul is on fire 
for high emprise — shades of my fathers ! I follow in your foot- 
steps ” 

“ I knew it,” muttered the Rapparee leader who had heard 
distinctly these latter words ; “ I knew he wouldn’t talk so with- 
out the beat of company. I would he were safe away from here, 
for the icy breath of the dead will pierce the marrow of his bones 
— but what am I saying — sure he isn’t like other men at all — ■ 
him that was so long foretold in prophecy — isn’t it half a spirit 
he is himself 1 The ne’er a matter, he’s fiesh and blood, anyhow, 
so I needn’t fear him !” And with that he advanced towards 
O’Neill with a detei mined air, as one who felt proud of a victory 
over himself. 

Dexterously and discreetly avoiding all allusion to what he 
had seen or heard, Donogh met the General with an encomium 
on the beauty of the night as though he had been lost in ad- 
miration. 

“ Isn’t that the beautiful moon all out. General? and did you 
ever see so many stars ? myself was trying to count them there, 
but it’s what they seemed to be making their game of me for 

* O’Sullivan, as quoted by Mitchel, says that the English gave 
the name of Blackwater to this fine river on account of the many de- 
feats sustained by them along its banks or in its vicinity. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Ill 


the ne’er a one of them would stand still a minute but winking 
and blinking at me up there and popping their bright heads in 
and out till I was fairly bothered and had to give it up entirely. 
Are we for the Brantree now '1” 

“ The Brantree 1"^ the Brantree !” 0 Neill repeated like one in 
a dream ; “ methinks I should know that name — it was of evil 
repute, was it not, in the olden time 1 — the Brantree Wood ! yes, 
yes, a place of shelter for the robbers and outlaws of the coun- 
try ” 

“ Have a care, General, what thou sayest,” whispered Donogh ; 
“ hedges and ditches have ears at times, and the Brantree is not 
to be meddled with lightly — still, I see the place is not unknown 
to thee, and this I tell thee that there be those hereabouts who 
even now give it no better name.” 

They were passing at the moment an old, old graveyard, with 
a church in the midst seemingly as old, and O’Neill somehow felt 
a desire to linger a moment at the gate. Not so with Donogh, who 
was passing rapidly on, having, it would seem, no sort of fancy for 
the lone dwellings of the dead. Just as they passed the gate, 
however, a cracked female voice was heard to issue from the 
shadow of its deep archway. 

“ Why, then, Donogh, is it to pass Eglishf you’d be doing, with 
the great O’Neill from abroad, and not stop a minute to show 
him where so many of the children of Nial rest 1 For shame, 
Donogh ! I thought you had more gumshin in you. It’s an ill 
compliment you’d be paying the spirits that have waited long 
for him to revenge their wrongs.” 

“ Who can that be I” cried O’Neill in surprise. 

“ Hush, hush,” Donogh whispered again, then raising his voice 
he said in a soothing tone : 

♦ The Brantree Wood is, or was, even in the last generation, an ex- 
tensive woodland tract not many miles from Benburb — most probably 
a remnant of the wide-spreading forests for which Tyrone was once 
famous. Many wild traditions concerning it wore common amongst 
the people. 

+ I have slightly changed the topographical position of old Eglish 
but the other facts are correct. 


112 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Sure you couldn’t suspect me of the like of that, Granny 1 
I was for taking the General to the brow of the hill above where 
he’d have a good look at the place.” 

“ Bring him hither, I tell thee, that I may have a good look at - 
him /” 

“ We must do as she bids us. General,” said Donogh to his 
wondering companion; “ no one thinks of gainsaying granny.” 

“lam quite willing,” said Owen Roe, and the two approached 
the gate. 

“ Stop there,” said the cracked voice, “ there where the moon- 
light is full on his face— there now — that will do 1” 

Owen Roe stood still as directed, and looked curiously into the 
arch, now partially illumined by the moon’s rays shining through 
the thick oaken bars of the gate. At first he could see only a 
dark crouching thing in the farther corner. Slowly, slowly, it 
began to move, and raising itself up a foot or two higher, it ap- 
peared a little old woman leaning on a stick, with the hood of 
her red cloak thrown over her head so that only occasional 
glimpses could be had of the withered face beneath. Yet 
O’Neill did not fail to note that there was something more than 
ordinary in the bold, firm lines of that wrinkled visage, and the 
small dark eyes that gleamed out so wildly from under the red 
hood. 

“Stand back there, Donogh,” said the weird hag, “keep 
your own place, my boy, in this presence.” The Rapparee did 
as he was bid, and O’Neill, who had braved death on many a 
field and in many a shape, felt a strange awe creeping over 
him, for he knew that the keen old eyes were reading his soul 
through the features of his face. Silent they all three were for 
a brief space, and then the strange old woman drew a long 
breath and spoke, as though to herself : 

“ He will do,” she said, nodding her aged head as though the 
fate of the nation rested on her nod ; “ Ae will do, anyhow — 
Phelimy Roe may go — shake himself — I see the brightness on 
his brow, — that is the blessing of God, — and there’s the quiet- 
ness, too — that is the good conscience — ay! and there’s the 
grandeur and the loftiness of the high blood of Nial — and the 
strong arm and the fieet limbs — surely, yes, there is the man to 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


113 


bring the past and the future together and make the sad days of 
bondage and mourning like unto the bright days of old — ay ! 
that is the man for whose coming I waited, and now I care not 
how soon I go to my fathers here within ! Long have I watched 
the sleep of the sleepers in the dark hours when only themselves 
were near me, waiting for the man that was promised — now. I’ll 
go home — home — home !” — and so saying, out she stept into the 
clear moonlight on the road, supporting herself on her knotted 
oaken staff. “ There now,” she hoarsely muttered, “ there’s the 
gate to you — son of my race, take old Mabel’s blessing, ere she 
go hence forever ! These eyes have seen the great Hugh in the 
height of his splendor, and alas ! in the depth of his sorrow, too 
— I lived to see Owen Roe, the O'Neill of God’s making, and so 
my race is run.” 

Owen Roe would have gladly questioned the old woman who 
had “ seen the great Hugh,” but his first attempt was unsuccess- 
ful, for she waved him off with the air of one who must be 
obeyed, and tottered down the road, muttering gloomily to her- 
self. She had not gone many paces, however, when a new 
thought seemed to strike her, and she turned her head half 
round. 

*• Donogh,” said she, “ I need not tell you to obey him in all 
things, and to fight till death against the enemies of God’s peo- 
ple — but this I want to tell you : Keep close watch over them 
you know — the lamb can’t be safe while the wolf is near the fold 
— so to God and you I leave them !” 

“ Granny ! Granny !” cried Donogh in some trepidation, “ they 
are not depending now on poor fellows like me and mine ; the 
General here has taken them in charge from the very first — so 
there’s no fear of them with God’s help and his — there’s a muz- 
zle on the wolf already !” 

“ Praised be the Lord, that makes my mind easy !” and turn- 
ing again to the road, the aged crone moved away 'with an un- 
steady faltering step. O’Neill stood looking after her for longer 
time than he was conscious of, spell-bound, as it were, by her 
strange, weird look, and ways not less strange. He was roused 
by the respectful voice of Donogh at his side : 

“ General,” said he, “ for all granny was so wishful that you’d 


114 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


see it, I don’t know if you’ll care much about the place. When 
you saw herself, you saw the greatest curiosity I ever knew 
about Eglish — barring the bell ” 

“ The bell ! what beU !” 

‘‘ Why, a bell that rings underground in it whenever one of 
your name of the real old stock without any mixture is brought 
for burial.* The minute the corpse is carried inside the gate, 
the bell begins tinkle, tinkle, but as if it was away ever so far, 
and there it keeps ringing with a silvery sound till the grave is 
closed. 

“ Did you overhear it yourself, Donogh 1” O’Neill interrupted 
with a most incredulous smile playing about his mouth. 

“ Well ! I can’t say I did. General, but there’s them living in 
the neighborhood that did hear it.” 

“ I wish I could hear it myself,” said Owen Roe, as he turned 
from the gate after a hasty survey of the old cemetery ; “ hear- 
ing, hke seeing, is believing, thou knowest, Donogh. However, 
an’ we mean to visit the Brantree this night, I would we w'ere 
on our way. Not but what I could stand longer,” he said within 
himself, “ contemplating yonder quiet scene where so many of my 
kindred sleep in peace under the moonlit sod.” And he looked 
back with a parting sigh. 

The word was all that Donogh needed, and again the pair ad- 
dressed themselves to the road. Few words passed beetwen them 
until, having ascended the steep hill, they found themselves on the 
outskirts of the forest ; dark and mysterious it lay before them, 
with the moonbeams flickering here and there through the open- 
ings in the thick foliage above. 

“Welcome to the Brantree, General !” said Donogh, as they 
stepped into the deep shade ; “ there’s a path here that will take 
us some distance, if you will just follow me, or — give me your 
hand, and I’ll lead you on !” 

“ Thanks, friend,” said O’Neill, “but I will not trouble thee 
so far — now that my eyes are accustomed to the gloom, I can 
perceive the pathway by the help of those occasional glimpses 
of light from above.” 

* This story is current with regard to more than one graveyard in 
the old Celtic parts of Ulster. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


115 


“ In former times,” observed Donogh, as they made their way 
slowly through the bushwood, “ we had not come even so far in 
without a challenge. From the time that the chieftains raised 
their banners and the power of the stranger was broken in the 
land, the dwellers in the woods gave themselves but little 
trouble keeping sentry, for indeed it’s roaming abroad they 
used to be through the fields — but of late since things began to 
go against us, and Sir Phelim and the other chiefs weren’t able 
to hold their own, we were forced to take to our old quarters— 
with God’s help, though, the tables will soon turn again ” 

“ Who goes there 1” said a rough voice almost close to them. 

“ The best of friends, Murtagh,” replied Donogh j “ are you all 
alive here 1” 

“ Ay, ay. Captain, alive and kicking.” “ Kick aw^ay, then, and 
good luck to you !” 

The path which had hitherto guided the progress of our 
travellers now disappeared, or rather they turned away from it 
in a diagonal direction into a a deeper and still darker portion 
of the wood where rocks piled on rocks at times rose up before 
them. 

“ Who comes here 1” demanded another voice from behind a 
projecting fragment of rock. 

“ The pike’s point,” was the answer. 

“ Sharp as ever — pass on !” 

“ Now, most noble sir,” whispered Donogh, “ we’re near our 
journey’s end. I hope you’ll not be disappointed in regard of 
W'hat you came to see ; at any rate, it will be something new !’ 

As yet there was no sign of any living being, nor a glimpse of 
light, for there the moonlight never made its way, and Owen 
Roe began to wonder how he could be so near an encampment 
when all at once his guide stopped short, and said in a loud 
cheerful tone that woke the echoes of the woods : 

“ General Owen Roe O’Neill, welcome to the Rapparee Camp !” 

At the same moment a sight burst on the General that in all 
his experience of camps he had never seen — a sight both new 
and startling. A glade of the forest was before him, or rather 
a rocky woodland dell, into which the unclouded moon, now 
high in the heavens, shed down her floods of silvery light. A 


116 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


mighty rustling, as of a forest shook by the storm, followed 
upon Donogh’s greeting, and from out the dark shades all 
around, and down from the shelves of the rocks, men, strong, 
stout, stalwart men, came bounding together on the green 
sward, while others who had been lying sprang to their feet, 
so that the place was literally alive with men. Some were at- 
tired in the saffron-dyed garments distinctive of the Irish kern of 
that and former days, a garment the voluminous folds of which^ 
gave formidable breadth to the figure of the wearer ; others wore 
the national truis and cochal formed of various materials, but 
in general of showy and mixed colors ; while some again were 
scantily clad in the coarsest cloth wrapped around them some- 
what after the Indian fashion. Most of the heads bad no other 
covering than their thick glibbe of long hair, others had high 
round caps made of the skin of various animals, while not a few 
were seen with silken or velvet harradhs, and even plumes were 
not wanting to catch the moon’s ray as their owners stood in 
conscious superiority amid the strange associates which oppres- 
sion and the wild thirst for revenge had given them. 

“ Shoulder your pikes !” cried Donogh, and instantly a for- 
est of those formidable weapons shot up gleaming in the moon- 
light air. That was the Rapparee’s salute. 

“ Behold our General — Owen Roe O’Neill !” said their Cap- 
tain again ; “ he has come to visit us in our wild-wood home, 
desiring to do us honor !” 

“ He is welcome ! — Cead mille failihe /” went forth from every 
tongue, and the sound was like the ocean-surge rumbling amid 
the rocks. 

What O’Neill felt at that moment it were not easy to describe, 
but a few burning words he spoke, words of strength, and hope, 
and power, which made the Rapparees forget their usual and 
not unnecessary caution, and a wild and long-continued cheer 
aw’oke the startled echoes of the place, and roused the red deer 
from their midnight lair. 

“ I have given him command over you in your own name !” 

• We are told that from twenty to thirty ells of this dyed linen 
were sometimes employed in the fabrication of one of these garments. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


117 


said Donogh ; “ are you content to do his bidding in all things — 
sons of the Gael, say V’ 

“ We are content,” spoke the deep many-toned voice again. 
“By our father’s wrongs and ours, we will faithfully serve 
him !” 

“ For God and holy Ireland !” said Owen Koe in a tone of 
deep feeling. 

“ For God and holy Ireland !” the homeless multitude re- 
sponded. 

“ It is well said,” spoke a voice from the farther side of the 
glade, a voice which made Owen O’Neill start, for soft and femi- 
nine it was, although clear and distinct, and moreover it sounded 
strangely familiar to his ear. 

“ Comrades, fall hack right and left,” said the Captain. The 
wood-kern instantly obeyed, and a still stranger scene was pre- 
sented to the eyes of the foreign bred descendant of the Hy- 
Nials. Under a sort of awning, skilfully and neatly formed by 
the interlaced branches of the forest trees, seated in rustic state 
on a primitive-looking chair well adapted to support her feeble 
frame, the aged Lady O’Cahan occupied the most prominent 
position. By her side stood her daughter, whose voice it was, as 
O’Neill rightly judged, that had so lately fallen on his ear. A 
score or two of women, wild, gypsey-like figures, yet many of 
them worthy studies for .the painter, or the sculptor, were 
grouped around the aged lady, all, however, at a respectful dis- 
tance, the moonlight giving to the whole scene a rich and pic- 
turesque character. 

“ Do mine eyes deceive me,” said O’Neill, “ or are those the 
ladies of Dungiven V’ 

“ Even so,” replied the Rapparee Captain ; “ we found that ever 
since their hiding-place was discovered they were watched day 
and night, and the fear began to come over them again, so I 
thought, and so did themselves, that it was not safe to be there 
any longer, and the boys here went to work and made the 
finest litter ever you saw of the branches of the trees, and brought 
their ladyships home.” 

“ And it is to the Rapparees they come for protection 1” 


118 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Why, to be sure it is, General, and where else would they 
go — there’s not a man you see there that wouldn’t lose a thou- 
sand lives, if he had so many, to save them from hurt or 
harm.” 

And truer words were never spoken, for there, at least, Judith 
and her mother reigned as queens. 


V 



’yt- ' ’t. n.tf- 


fHE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


110 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ And many an old man’s sigh, and many a widow’s, 

And many an orphan’s water-standing eye — 

Men for their sons’, wives for their husbands’ fate, 

And orphans for their parents’ timeless death ” 

' Shakespeare. 


“ To trample on all human feelings, all 
Ties which bind man to man, to emulate 
The fiends, who will one day requite them in 
Variety of torturing.” 

Byron’s Two Foscari. 

It was a pleasant renewal of acquaintance when Owen Roe 
was conducted by Donogh to a seat near the Lady O’Cahan, who 
rose with dignity to receive him, and extended her hand with as 
lofty an air as though she stood under the silken canopy as of 
old on the dais in Dungiven hall. To O’NeilTs respectful saluta- 
tion, Judith only bowed and said: “ Welcome to the Rapparee 
camp, son of the Hy-Nial !” 

“ Chieftain of Tyr-Owen !” added the old woman. 

” Nay, madam, not so,” said O’Neill quickly ; ” such proud 
title belongeth not to me — I am simply, Owen Mac Art, en- 
dowed by the favor of the good people of these parts with the 
style of General — however unworthy I be to bear it! But 
chieftain of Tyr-Owen I am not — never can be !” 

“ Chieftain of Tyr-Owen I say thou art — or soon shall be.” 
The aged lady repeated with solemn emphasis : ” Before yonder 
moon puts forth her horns again the sept shall have a new ruler, 
and one shall sit in the chair of Royalty* whose feet have never 

* The ancient coronation-chair of the O’Neill’s on the Rath of Tul- 
loghoge. The seat of it was, in former times, the famous Lia Fail, 


120 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


yet pressed the grass of Tulloghoge ! Believe my word, for the 
voices of the night have made it known unto me !” 

“ Dominus Vobiscum, fratres P* said a voice from behind one 
of the rocks, and Malachy na Soggarth stept out just in time to 
prevent the commotion following on the unexpected sound. He 
was accompanied by a nephew of his whom all recognized as 
one of the holy confraternity of Kapparees. The fame of Mala- 
chy had long ago reached beyond the limits of McMahon’s coun- 
try, and no sooner was his name wliispered around than a murmur 
of kindly greeting was heard on every side. 

“ Welcome, Malachy,” said the Captain advancing with a 
smile to shake him by the hand ; “ in good hour thou earnest 
hither, but what wind bore thee to the Brantree V 

“ By my word, good sir,” said the panting follower of McMahon, 
“ I had hard work to get here, as Looney there can tell you. 
But still I wanted to see what the place looked like when you’d 
be all at home, the which I had often heard the boy say was a 
fine sight entirely. When the bishop and myself came down to 
Charlemont to the great meeting, I thought as I was so near I’d 
go to Lough Derg* before I went home. So I just let his 

or Stone of Destiny, afterwards removed to the royal abbey of Soone, 
in Scotland, and now, it is believed, in Westminster Abbey. 

* There are few of our readers unfamiliar with the name of this 
famous lictle lake — a very small one it is, too — situate amongst dreary 
hills in the county of Donegal. As containing the island which enjoys 
the possession of St. Patrick’s Purgatory, the Lough is and has been 
for many centuries an object of veneration, not only in Ireland, but in 
other Catholic countries. Speaking of Lough Derg a modern tourist 
observes ; “ On the ridge where I stood, I had leisure to look around. 
To the southwest lay Lough Erne, with all its isles and cultivated 
shores; to the northwest Lough 'Derg — and truly never did I mark 
such a contrast. Lough Derg under my feet — the lake, the shores, 
the mountains, the accompaniments of all sorts, presented the very 
landscape of desolation ; its waters expanding in their highland soli- 
tude, amidst a wide waste of moors, without one green spot to refresh 
the eye, without a house or tree — all mournful in the brown hue of 
its far-stretching bogs, and the grey uniformity of its rocks ; the sur- 
rounding mountains even partook of the sombre character of the place, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


121 


lordship go back his lone for this once, especially as the chief 
was with him. I mean to start for the Island* now, by the peep 
of day the morrow, but first I thought I’d see how matters stood 
here, now that we’re in a fair way for another brush with the 
enemy.” 

Casting his slow glance around, Malachy’s eye now lit on Lady 
O’Cahan, and off w'ent his cap at once with a “ God and the 
Virgin save you, lady !” Neither she nor her daughter was 
known to him, but he well knew by the rough respect paid to 
them that they were branches of some fallen tree that had tow- 
ered high in its day. 

O’Neill next came under Malachy’s observation, and then his 
» surprise was at the height. Bowing down as low as he could 
without losing his equilibrium, he drew himself up again to his 
full perpendicular, and, for once, lost the use of his tongue. 

“ What, Malachy McMahon here said O’Neill with a pleas- 
ant smile; “ are you a Rapparee, too, Malachy I” 

“ A Rapparee ! your lordship !” Malachy exclaimed in no 
small trepidation ; “ me a Rapparee ! me that wouldn’t have 
the heart to kill a chicken ! a poor Rapparee Fd make !” 

“ No, General, said, Donogh advancing, “ Malachy isn’t so 
unlucky as to have any title to that name.” 

“ Unlucky ! how is that. Captain I” 

“ Why, you see, there’s ne’er a one of us here that hasn’t a 
commission from the enemy.” 

“ A commission from the enemy — what may that mean 1” 

“Well! it’s a word that doesn’t sound well,” said the young 

their forms without grandeur, their ranges continuous and without; 
elevation. The lake itself was certainly as fine as rocky shores and 
numerous islands could make it ” 

* The Island, so called by way of distinction, is the largest of 
tho£.e which dot the reddish surface of Lough Derg (i. e. the red lake). 
It is called the Station Island, as most of the stations are performed 
there. In a cave of this world-famed island is the renowned Purga- 
tory of St. Patrick, the scene of Calderon’s groat poem. On this 
island are situate the chapel, priest’s house, <fco. On the Saint’s Island, 
one of lesser extent, are the ruins of an ancient priory. 

IG 


122 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Captain, “ but still it’s true — there’s not a man here that hasn’t 
his license to fight from one or other of the Puritan generals !” 

O’Neill was at a loss to understand his meaning, and Donogh 
hastened to explain with a bitter laugh. “ Now,” said he, Gen- 
eral O’Neill, what I mean is this : there is not one of us pike- 
' men here who hath not a dismal score to settle with these ac- 
cursed strangers, a debt as binding on our consciences as one of 
red gold — ay ! and a thousand times more so. Stand forward, 
Florry Muldoon ! and tell the General what hath made you a 
Rapparee !” 

The person addressed, a tall and venerable-looking man of 
some sixty odd years, advanced, with his pike on his shoulder, 
and spoke in a deep, husky voice : 

“ The wife of my bosom and the children of my love — my 
two fine sons and three daughters, the fiower of the country side, 
were butchered by a party of Montgomery’s soldiers before mine 
eyes — ” he stopped — he could say no more. 

” Did they only butcher them all, Florry 1” said another veteran 
pikesman by his side, — a fierce-looking man of stalwart frame, 
still erect and firm. 

“ Wasn’t that enough '1” said the other, turning short on him^ 

“ It was, Florry, sure it was, enough to make you a sworn 
Rapparee, but it wasn’t so bad but what it might be worse. Now 
I had only one daughter — only one — and there’s many here can 
tell you what Nora O’Boyle was — it wouldn’t become me to say 
it anyhow, — me that was her father — well ! that darling of the 
world — the best child that ever broke the bread of life— one of 
their officers laid an eye on her as she was washing clothes at 
the river with some neighbor women, and — and — they took her, 
so they did, and they threw her over one of their cruppers all as one 
as a bag of oats, and they put a gag on her mouth, and carried 
her off, and hilt or hair of her we never seen till after her poor 
mother died of a broken heart, and then she dropped into us 
one black day without knowing where she was going, for — for — 
the wits had left my lanna entirely. Och, boys, boys, wasn’t it 
a wonder I kept my own — wasn’t itl — nor I suppose I wouldn’t 
either, only that I tried to keep myself cool and quiet on account 
of the work that was before me. And I did part of it already — 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


123 


faith I did so, for that devil’s limb of an oflScer was pointed ont 
to me not long after by one who had seen him taking the gersha 
away, and I gave him his oats — ^ha ! ha ! ha ! I’ll go bail he’l 
be as quiet as a lamb for the time to come.” 

“ Why, what did you do, Pete V" said his Captain much in- 
terested, as were all who heard the sad recital. 

“ Do ! — oh, then, I did plenty ! — I clove him to the belt with 
this brave hatchet of mine — do you see it. Captain ? — it’s my 
companion ever since by night and by day, and wiU, as long as 
there’s a hell-hound of them Puritans on Irish soil to be hunted 
—oh faith, yes, Nora O’Boyle was well revenged, and shall be 
better, if I am spared !” 

“ And you, Diarmid !” said the Captain to a tall, athletic young 
man, with a frank, good-natured countenance, on which no trace 
of strong passion was visible, “ what brought you here P’ 

“ It’s easy told, Captain,” the young Rapparee replied with a 
sudden change of manner — a ruffling, as it were, of the smooth 
surface ; “I had two young brothers, as promising boys as you’d 
see in a summer’s day, and Stewart’s soldiers hung them like 
dogs from one of the trees in our own haggard—” 

“Hung them!” repeated O’Neill in horror; “ and why, good 
friend, I pray thee I” 

“Why, General, the soldiers stopped to water their horses 
near our house where the poor fellows were fishing, — for fun for 
themselves the Sassum dergs began to poke at the boys with 
their bayonets, calling them ‘ Papist brats’ and all such hard 
names. At last one of my brothers — poor Connor — told them 
they had better leave off their tricks, or Sir Phelim might have 
a word to say to them — with that they made at the two, though 
one of them never opened his lips to say them ill, and they tore 
the clothes in flitters off their backs and made ropes of them to 
hang them!” 

“ And where were you, Diarmid, when that was done P’ said 
Judith from behind. 

“ Your ladyship may well ask the question,” said the young 
man turning quickly and bowing very low ; “ my father and 
myself were at the bog a mile or so off, cutting turf — if we had 
been on the spot, it’s like we couldn’t have saved the gorsoons, 


124 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and it’s like, too, that I wouldn’t be here now to tell the tale— 
but — ” he paused to take breath, and a dark scowl settled on 
his brow — “ but, we’d have done for the hangmen, anyhow, if 
nothing more. Still and all, I have one comfort,” he added 
with a ghastly smile, “ if they escaped us, others of the murdei- 
ing crew did not — we’ve brought down some of their highest 
heads since then, and though I am alone now, — for the old 
father is at rest long ago in Tynan mould, — there’s strength 
enough in this arm” — and he held up his brawny right arm — “ to 
do the work of two !” 

“ Your story is bad enough, Diarmid,” said another young fel- 
low, a strapping Tyrone mountaineer, coming forward, “ but 
wait till you hear mine.” 

“ Ay ! ay !” said many voices, “ hear what Denny has to tell. 
His is the worst of all.” 

“ I had a kind loving mother once,” said the tall Rapparee in 
a gloomy voice, “ and I had but her — we two were alone in the 
world, and it’s little either of us cared for the world, so long as 
we had one another. Well ! my poor mother was very fond of 
her beads and her prayers, and when I used to be away from 
home she’d spend most of her time in a sort of a cave in the 
hill-side where there was an altar made of clay with a big flag 
over the top, where Mass was said of an odd time before day- 
light in the morning when any priest came the way. There was 
an old wooden cross up over the altar, you see, and my mother 
and some others of the neighbors would go there when they 
could to say their prayers on account of the cross and the altar 
and Mass being said in it at times. But that didn’t last long, 
for one of the black nebs* that lived almost in the door with us, 
happened to find out the secret, and doesn’t he watch his oppor- 
tunity till Mass was a-saying the next time, and then ofl* he goes 
to Castle-Stewart and brings a party of the red-coats and — and 
they made a fire at the mouth of the cave — and smothered every 
soul in it — ay ! priest, people, and all !” 

He got over the last part of his recital with much difiiculty, 

* This name was often given by the Catholics of Ulster to the stern 
Puritans their neighbors. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


125 


for the words were choking him, and when he had ended, he 
clenched his ponderous fist and ground his teeth like a tiger 
athirst for blood, then, as if unable to endure the sight of mortal 
man, he turned and rushed into the depth of the forest. 

“ Poor fellow !” said one of his comrades looking after him, 
“ he was away at the time with Sir Phelim’s army near Drogh- 
eda.” 

“ Great God ! how terrible — how piteous are these tales !” cried 
Owen O’Neill, his features betraying the extent of that emotion 
which he cared not to express ; “ was ever people so wronged, so 
outraged as this 

“ And remember what I told you at the start. General,” said 
Donogh in a husky voice, “ that everj'^ one of us here has cre- 
dentials from the enemy. You see now what kind they be, and 
may guess from that what manner of soldiers the wood-kern 
are, and why it is that they hate us as they do. We stink in 
their nostrils, and no wonder. However, General, I think you 
have heard enough to convince you that you may trust a Rap- 
paree at any hour or in any place. Slieve Gullian there beyond 
will move from its old stand before one of us betrays the cause.” 

A deep murmur of applause now ran through the assembly, 
and the very pikes on the men’s shoulders made a clatter by way 
of accompaniment. 

“ You have spoken only for the men. Captain,” said Judith 
O’Cahan from her place beside her mother ; “ let me remind the 
General that all these helpless females have similar tales to tell. 
The daughters of the land are, it may be, the most aggrieved, in 
that they must perish, these woful days, when deprived of their 
natural protectors, and turned out on a bare, desolate country, 
where those who would befriend them have not the power or the 
means.” 

“ Ay,” said the old man Florry Muldoon, “just look at the 
old madam, and think of what she was !” 

“Let that pass, I pray you,” said Judith haughtily ; “ oi^r 
wrongs are known to General O’Neill, and we love not to hear 
them told over!” 

The pride of her princely lineage tinged the pale cheek of 
O’Cahan’s daughter, and made her averse to have the dark pages 


126 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


of her house’s latter fortunes held up for the inspection of a 
multitude. 

This O’Neill saw, and he well understood the feeling. “ Friend 
Donogh,” he said, hastily addressing the Captain, “ I am anxious 
to learn what score you have against the Sassenach. You told 
me but lately that I should one day know it all — ^is the time yet 
come 

This question produced a startling effect on Donogh. The 
blood rushed to his face, then back again to his heart, and left 
him pale and livid as a corpse. A sudden faintness came over 
him, too, and he grasped the arm of Angus Dhu who stood near 
him at the moment. 

“ Poor boy ! poor boy !” ejaculated Malachy, “ there’s a weak- 
ness coming over him — is there any water at hand 1” 

“ Ay, oceans of it,” said Donogh, mastering himself by a vio- 
lent effort, and no little amused by Malachy’s compassionate 
demand for water ; “ were you wanting any 1” Turning to O’Neill 
before the slow organs of Malachy had prepared an answer, the 
young man said : 

“ Although I’d a’most as soon take the earth from over them 
and leave all comers to look upon their mouldering remains as 
to tell over the black, horrid murder of my nearest and dearest, 
still. I’ll do it at your bidding, General O’Neill, to let you see 
what devils in human form you have to deal with. You have 
heard surely of Island Magee I” 

“Heard of it, Donogh! ay, marry, have I— all Europe hath 
rung with the name, and the horror of that massacre hath made 
the blood in even royal veins to run cold — it moved the inmost 
heart of Christendom.” 

“ Well ! General, on that night of woe, I lost father and mother, 
sisters and brothers — well nigh all I had in the world ” 

“ Except one little bit of a gersha,'' said a voice from the out- 
skirts of the crowd, “ and no thanks to the Sassum dergs if you 
didn’t lose her, too.” 

“ True for you, Shamus 1” cried Donogh quickly, for the voice 
was well known to him ; “ God knows, and I know, and Aileen 
knows, too, who it was that saved her. That’s Sir Phelim’s 
foster-brother. General,” dropping his voice to an under tone. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


127 


“ And is he one of you 

“ Well, no, General, he never took the oath, nor nobody asked 
him, but he comes and goes as he lists amongst us, for a truer 
comrade or a braver soldier never shouldered a pike. You might 
depend your life to him, though I don’t say but he has a little 
coolness towards you on account of your stepping into Sir Phe- 
lim's shoes. You might ’as well touch the apple of his eye as 
touch his chief in aught.” 

“ No blame to him for that,” said Owen in the same low tone, 
“ but,” raising his voice, “ you said most of your family were 
slaughtered on that tatal night.” 

” I did. General, and though I say it myself, there wasn’t a 
happier or a more united family from here to there, nor one more 
comfortably situated — that is, for poor people — than Corny 
Magee's He stopped — his voice was lost in choking sobs, but 
any further words of his were superfluous at the moment, for, 
at the mention of that name, so often told over in the sad story 
of the massacre, a wild shout, a yell of execration for the per- 
petrators of the black deed, burst from the war-like Rapparees, 
making the rocks and the old woods ring again. Before the 
sound had died away, Donogh sprang on a ledge of rock near 
him, where the moonbeams shone full upon his light yet athletic 
figure and his now strongly agitated countenance. Tearing oflf 
the stripe of brown drugget from his arm, he held it up to the 
view of all. 

“ And there,” said he, “ mark those stains— they are the min- 
gled blood of my parents— this was a piece of my mother’s 
kirtle — it is now, and shall be to my latest breath, the badge of 
my office as avenger of my race ! General, I pray you, excuse 
me,” he said in a faint voice, as he reached his side again, amid 
the oft-renewed groans of the fierce multitude, “ my heart is 
oppressed, and my brain throbs as though it would burst my 

head I must e’en lay me down a brief space or the senses may 

go from me entirely ! Angus, good boy, see if you can’t find 
somewhat to offer the General in the way of eating or drinking !” 

So saying, and leaning on the arm of Shamus, who had darted 
through the crowd for the purpose, the young Captain withdrew 
into the neighboring thicket, where his couch of heather had 


128 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


been spread by careful hands. After a few moments, Shamus 
came back, with the Captain’s orders for the men to betake 
themselves to rest. A few minutes more and the moonlight 
glade was as silent and lonely as though the Rapparees were 
miles away. The women quickly followed the example of the 
men, and betook themselves to the place set apart for their ac- 
commodation, viz., a sort of sylvan saloon inclosed, where the 
rocks and trees left it open, by a rude screen of wicker-work. 

Before they retired, these amazons of the woods did not fail to 
compliment the so-long expected leader, whose personal ap- 
pearance and general demeanor they had been criticising amongst 
themselves, “ after the manner of women,” to his decided ad- 
vantage. 

General O’Neill was much too polite, and, we must add, too 
devoted an admirer of the sex, to receive such a manifestation 
with even a show of indifference, and the smiling condescension 
wherewith he thanked his fair friends for the expression of 
their good opinion quite won their hearts. There was not one 
of them, matrons or maids, who would not have sworn on the 
Book that fine summer night that Owen Roe would have the 
country cleared of the foreigners in “ less than no time.” 

But there were those who spoke or stirred not whose opinions 
would have carried more weight, and when, last of all, Judith 
offered her arm to her mother, without even a word of encour- 
agement, he felt disappointed he scarce knew why. 

“ Lady O’Cahan,” said he, approaching her with the most 
profound respect, “ it grieves me more than I can say to leave 
you and fair Mistress Judith in such unsafe quarters.” 

“ Say not unsafe, I pray you,” said Judith with the earnest- 
ness which belonged to her character; “I tell you, we deem 
ourselves as safe here, surrounded by these wild, outlawed men, 
as we would under cover of my father’s ramparts in the days 
when they were high and strong. There is not one of these 
brave poor fellows that would not die to save us !” 

“ They have been the best of friends to us,” muttered the ased 
lady in her strange dreamy voice, “ an’ we ever come to have a 
home, none of them shall want a shelter were they bann’d an 
hundred times over.” 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


129 


“ Heaven bless you, madam,” said Donogh coming forward, 
“ it’s well we know what’s in your heart for us, and sure you 
needn’t make so much of the little we ever did for you — the black 
stranger couldn’t do less, if he had e’er a heart within him ! 
Well, General, I suppose you’d be wishful to get back now — it 
will be broad day before we get to the Castle.” 

“ I want to lie down, daughter,” said the old woman faintly, 
“ the old bones of me are tired — tired — oh ! age — old age, when 
thou and poverty come together, ye are poor, poor mates — 
poor, poor mates ! Fare thee well, Owen O’Neill, and take an 
old woman's blessing.” 

” God and the saints protect thee,” whispered Judith, as she led 
her mother back into the woods. ” Let me hear full soon of the 
inauguration on Tulloghoge — an’ the clan will have it so, see that 
you oppose it not. The O'NeiU, thou knowest, ever holdeth the 
balance here in Ulster !” 



✓ 


130 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER X. 

“ To the common people, 

How he did seem to dive into their hearts, 

With humble and familiar courtesy I” 

Shakespeare. 

“ What fate imposes, men must needs abide ; 

It boots not to resist both wind and tide.” 

Shakespeare. 

A WEEK or so after Owen Roe’s visit to the Brantree, a funeral 
train was seen wending its way amongst the hills and hillocks of 
that undulating district contiguous to old Eglish. The cortege 
was long and imposing in its character, for the clansmen of Tyr- 
Owen who bore the honored name of O’Neill were there in large 
numbers, and the martial regularity of their step and the gay 
costume so well known in the northern wars, gave a military air 
to the procession ; but for the crowd of wailing women that fol- 
lowed next to the bier, (a sort of two-wheeled car commonly 
used then and long after by the peasantry,) one might have sup- 
posed that the dead was one of the warriors. Few would have 
guessed that it was the half-crazed “ Granny the gate”* whom 
the O’Neills were bearing to her last resting-place amongst the 
dust of her progenitors. Yet so it -was, and the death of that 
lonely old woman was sincerely mourned by the kind-hearted and 
unsophisticated children of the soil who had donO all that her 
demented state would allow to make her last days comfortable. 

* This custom of giving soubriquets from personal habits or pur- 
suits has come down even to the present generation in the rural dis- 
tricts of Ireland. It is clearly borrowed from our own “ Celtic 
Tongue,” and has a strange sound in that imported from beyond the 
Channel. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 131 

And soon the procession was largely increased by many of the 
oiUlawed tenants of the Brantree, anxious to pay their tribute of 
respect to the blood that had filled the veins of Granny. Their 
captain, however, was not to be seen, for, long before the hour 
appointed for the funeral, he had gone in the train of Owen Koe 
miles away on an exploring expedition. It so happened that 
they reached the churchyard wall just as the gate was thrown 
open to admit her who had so long kept watch and ward thereat. 
Alighting from their horses, they followed the funeral into the 
graveyard, and strangely enough, from the moment the gate 
was opened, the low tinkling of a bell was heard distinctly, fall- 
ing soft and silvery on the ear like the voices of long-departed 
friends heard in dreams of night. The cry of the keeners was 
instantly hushed, and the clansmen bowed their heads to listen. 

“ Now, General,” whispered the Rapparee Captain, “ what did 
I tell you — you believe my word now, do you not 

“ It is very strange,” replied O’Neill, musingly. “ But,” he 
added, speaking to himself in an under tone, “supernatural 
agency is out of the question — a mystery there must be in it, 
and I would I might fathom it.* It sounds like a church-bell,” 
he said to Donogh ; “ hark !” 

“It is even so, noble sir, and we simple country folk take it 
for a warning to be mindful of God’s service, In days when 
there were no priests to be had here — even worse times than our 
own — they tell me that that was the meaning the people took 
from the sound of these churchyard bells, and hearing them 
they thought of the Church and the Holy Mass and the Priest in 
his robes, and they promised to be always faithful to religion, 
and to do what it taught them, and they looked forward to bet- 
ter days to come.f God knows where the sound comes from !” 
he added, with the simple earnestness of a believer. 

* Let no proud skeptic scoff at these innocent traditions and soul- 
soothing superstitions, peculiar to a faithful, unsophisticated people, 
circumstanced as our pious forefathers were. They are the super- 
stitions of a Christian nation, long ground down by the persecuting 
arm of heresy. 

t The story current amongst the peasantry is that some venturous 


132 


THE CONFEDEEATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Meanwhile the interment proceeded, and while the nearest 
relations of the deceased were filling up the grave, the solemn 
and sweet tinkling of the invisible bell formed a strange accom- 
paniment to the dull, heavy sound of the earth falling on the 
rough coffin. 

Superstition had but little hold on the mind of Owen Roe, and 
yet the tinkling of that churchyard bell made no slight impres- 
sion upon him, and came often on his ear in after years amid 
the roar of battle and the deafening crash of artillery. 

When the last shovelful of earth was laid on the grave the 
knell ceased, and each having breathed a short prayer for the 
eternal repose of poor Granny, quitted the churchyard in silence, 
leaving the lone old watcher of the gate to sleep her last sleep 
in peace. Once outside the gate, the presence of Owen Roe was 
noticed by a wild cheer of joyous recognition, and the clansmen, 
supposing him to be there through respect for the old blood, 
pressed eagerly forward to shake hands and express their un- 
bounded satisfaction. And the new-made general, the foreign 
officer of rank, exchanged a courteous greeting with each, and 
received their gratulations with evident pleasure, well pleased, as 
he said, to shake the hands that were to aid in working out the 
deliverance of their country. He was glad to make the ac- 
quaintance of so many of his kith and kin,” as he adroitly 
phrased it. 

When Sir Phelim heard of his kinsman’s appearance at, what 
would now be considered a pauper funeral, he burst into a loud 
laugh, and declared that Red Owen must be mad — mad as a 
March hare. When a few days had past, and Shamus came to 
tell him that he heard of nothing wherever he went but the 
goodness of Owen Roe and the gra he had for the old stock, 
and how he showed it more in the little time he was among 
them than others that were bred and born on the spot and had 
a better right to look after the people. 

persons in after times, seeking to find out the secret of “ the under- 
ground bell,” dug up the consecrated earth till they came upon it, 
and lo ! what should it bo but the bell of a neighboring monastery, 
buried there ages before, during the spoliation following on the Re- 
formation. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


133 


“ Didn’t I tell you now,” added Shamus with a sagacious and 
exulting nod, “ didn’t I tell you the gentleman from abroad 
wasn’t so mad as you thought in regard to the funeral 1 Take 
my word for it. Sir Phelim, he’s as sharp and as cute a man as 
ever stepped in shoe leather. He never does anything without 
knowing well, well what he’s about.” 

“ I wish he was in Flanders back again !” said Sir Phelim 
in a petulant tone, which made his foster-brother laugh. 

“ He’s not, then, nor won’t be, so we must only make the 
best of it, and not be fretting about what can’t be helped. But 
listen hither, chief!” and Shamus drawing near, stood up on his 
toes (for his stature, as his sobriquet of heg implied, was some- 
what of the shortest) to whisper in Sir Phelim's ear : “ I’m 
afeard they’ll be for making him the O’Neill !” 

“ They dare not !” cried the chief with one of those sudden 
fits or bursts of anger to which he was subject ; “ they dare not, 
ingrates as they are 1” 

“ I tell you they will dare, and that before long !” 

“ By the shrine of Ardmacha an’ they do, I will — I will — ” 

“ You will— what r’ 

“ Kill all before me — I will, by the holy rood 1” 

“ Hal ha ! ha I that sounds well, my chief,” said the privi- 
leged foster-brother, and, were this foreign O’Neill not to the fore, 
you might get the better of them, but what do you think he and 
all the others would be doing while you’d be killing f No, no, 
Sir Phelim dear, think better of it, and you will see that the 
only way for you to hold your own is to keep cool and quiet — • 
as quiet as a cat watching a mouse, and rub people down as 
smoothly as Owen Roe does. Humor them in little things, and 
they’ll give you your own way in great things.” 

“ I’d scorn it, Shamus,” said Sir Phelim vehemently ; “ I’d 
scorn to make so little of myself. Even to keep the power 
and the name I wouldn’t do it — I leave such tricks to thuj 
Spanish-Irish cousin of mine. But in the matter of the chief- 
tainship, I tell you, Shamus O’Hagan, that I’d sooner they’d cut 
off this right arm of mine than give him that title — him a for- 
eigner and — a bastard !” 

“ Whisht, whisht. Sir Phelim, darling,” said Shamus anxiously, 


184 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and in a wLisper; “ for the love of God don’t say the like ot that 
—they'll— they’ll— oh, Mother of God ! they’ll do everything— 
they’ll have your life !” 

“ My life !” repeated the chief scornfully ; “ let them try it — 
I should like to see them ! — hut an’ they did seek my life, in 
the foulness of their ingratitude, they might, perchance, have it 
— but the title of O’Neill — the headship of the clan — never, never, 
never — so help me Heaven and this strong right arm ! — ^let the 
spawn of a bastard breed look to it ! Low, indeed, were the 
chieftainship of Tyr-Owen fallen when it rested on the shoulders 
of Owen Mac Art!” 

“ God and the Kinel-Owen will decide that !*’ 

“ Eh, what ? — did you speak, Shamus cried Sir Phelim 
with a start. 

“ Is it I, Sir Phelim 1 — why, no, I didn’t — the Lord save us I” 
and Shamus stood with open mouth, and a coinical expression 
of wonder on his broad face, looking hither and thither and all 
around, but no human being save themselves two was visible in 
the close paddock where Shamus was training a promising young 
colt as a war-steed for his chief. The place was surrounded by 
a high stone wall, here and there overhung by hawthorn and 
elder bushes, and Sir Phelim darted off in one direction to see 
whether the bushes contained an eaves-dropper, while Shamus, 
letting go the halter, left Brian Boromhe to kick up his heels 
and enjoy a canter round the paddock, while he scrambled to 
the top of the wall to make a survey of the premises. But nor 
man nor woman, beast or bird was discovered by either, save 
only a solitary magpie sitting far up on the topmost bough of a 
tall beech-tree, which in beauty and in breadth graced a comer 
of the enclosure. 

“ I’ll tell you what it is. Sir Phelim,” said the foster-brother, as 
the two stood together again, panting and sweating after their 
fruitless chase, “ if I had a gun loaded with a piece of silver, I’d 
shoot that devil of a mag, for I’d almost swear it was it that 
spoke, 3 nd you know” — lowering his voice— “ the witches are 
as plenty as blackberries round here. I’ll go bail now if one 
could only bring down that unlucky bird, it would turn into an 
ill-favored old hag. There’s plenty of them, between ourselves, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


135 


that have no liking for your four bones, God forgive them ! But 
think no more about it, Sir Phelim dear ! just watch now how 
beautifully I’ll bring this fellow to his knees — when he gets the 
word you’ll see he’ll pop down all as one as a Christian !” 

“ You’ll do what all the Danes in Ireland weren’t able to do, 
then,” observed Sir Phelim, with an attempt at pleasantry all 
unusual with him. 

“What is that, Sir Phelim 1” asked honest Shamus, whose 
faculties were never of the sharpest. 

“ Why, you say you can bring Brian Boromhe to his knee, 
and that’s more than they could do with all the power they had 
— but there’s Thorlogh making signs to me from the gate — ^now 
look to it, Shamus, that you go not blabbing amongst the neigh- 
bors in regard to what has passed.” 

“ I’ll make no promise of the kind,” said Shamus gruffly as 
he turned away ; “ I’d thank people to keep their advice for 
them that needs it.” 

But Sir Phelim was already out of hearing, and Shamus was 
alone with Brian Boromhe and the magpie, who indubitably 
kept her perch for no good, as Shamus thought, and her perse- 
vering chatter gave him no little annoyance, as might be seen 
by the uneasy glances which he threw in her direction from time 
to time, muttering to himself certain objurgations not very 
complimentary either to magpies or old women, between whom 
Shamus had established a connection in his own mind, based on 
the supposition already hinted at. 

From his brother Sir Phelim learned that a tumult had arisen 
amongst the soldiers in his Castle of Dungannon which only his 
own presence could quell. Carefully keeping the secret from 
'Owen Roe, to whoso arrival he at once attributed this commotion, 
the impetuous knight set out in a towering passion for Dun- 
gannon, with Shamus and some score or two of his followers. 

The waning moon was near her setting and the dawn close at 
hand when the trumpet announced the chiefs return to Charle- 
mont. It was remarked by those who gave him admission that 
there was a ghastly paleness on his usually florid countenance, 
and a nervous tremor in his voice and manner, all of which led 
to the supposition that things had not gone well with the sturdy 


13G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


knight at Dungannon. On questioning his attendants, however, 
this notion was found erroneous, for, on the contrary, Shamus 
and his fellows gave a most satisfactory account of their lord’s 
demeanor — unusually firm and self-possessed, his passion at the 
start notwithstanding — and of the little trouble he had had in 
bringing the men to subjection. What, then, must have caused 
the unaccountable change in Sir Phelim’s manner, the strange 
depression, the wild restlessness of look and gesture 1 Many a 
question was put to Shamus on the subject, but Shamus either 
knew, or afiected to know nothing of it. 

The surprise ol the garrison was at its height when it became 
known that Sir Phelim had sent messengers out the first thing 
in the morning to summon the clansmen to a meeting within the 
w ek at Tulloghoge, on a day and hour specified, to transfer the 
chief power of the sept to Owen Roe O’Neill. The latter had 
hardly completed his brief soldierly toilet when he was invited 
to walk abroad with the chief, and could scarce believe his ears 
when Sir Phelim, with that grim courtesy which he well knew 
how to assume at times, addressed him in this wise : 

“ I wish to inform you. General O’Neill, that before the week 
is out you may expect a change here of some importance — to all 
of us !” 

“ Of what nature, may I ask 1” 

“ Of a nature. General Owen, to elevate your social standing 
by more than a cubit’s length, and lower mine in a like mea- 
sure.” This was said with a bitterness that could not escape the 
other’s penetration. He probably suspected what it meant, but 
chose to afiect ignorance. 

“ An’ you favor me not with some further enlightenment, 
cousin mine, I can by no means fathom your meaning.”’ 

“ I did not think you had been so dull, you Spanish-Flemish- 
Irishmen.” 

“ Nay, Sir Phelim,” said* Owen somewhat haughtily, “ I came 
hither at your request, apparently to receive some intelligence 
at your hands, an’ you choose to keep it to yourself, do so in 
God’s name, but spare your taunts— they are unworthy a chief- 
tain and a gentleman.” 

The lofty air with which Owen spoke was not without its efiect 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


187 


on Sir Phelira, and his own weaker, although more blustering, 
nature involuntarily gave way before it. 

“ When you are called upon, General O’Neill,” he said in a 
subdued tone, “ to receive, a few days hence, the highest honor in 
Clan Owen’s gift, say not that Phelim O’Neill kept you in the 
dark concerning it !” 

Without another word he walked away, leaving his kinsman 
at a loss to understand what powerful agency it was that had 
brought him to such a frame of mind. 

During the next three days Owen had little opportunity of ob- 
serving the workings of his kinsman’s mind, and at the end of 
that time half a dozen gentlemen of the O’Neills came in form to 
the Castle to announce the sovereign will of the Clan Owen in re- 
gard to this new and stately branch of the family tree. He was 
to repair, on the following day at high noon, to the royal rath of 
Tulloghoge, there to receive the insignia of power and the hom- 
age of the sons of Nial. Sir Phelim, too, was summoned, but he 
flatly refused to go, saying that he washed his hands of them 
and their affairs from that day out. Tirlogh, on the contrary, 
intimated in his usual gruff way his intention of being present. 

“ I’ll break your neck an’ you do,” cried Phelim, with sudden 
passion, and he shook his clenched fist at him. 

“That would be no so easy matter, Phelim,” replied the 
younger brother with a grim smile; “ however, an’ you wish me 
not to go, then go I won’t, for, let who may have the white wand, 
you’ll still be my chief, anyhow — interlopers may come with 
their treacherous smiles and undermine you in the love and 
affection of your people, but, by the shield of Eoghan More, 
there shall be one man of your clan who will never bow to an- 
other O'Neill while the pulse beats in your heart, old fellow !” 

These bursts of fraternal affection were so strong on the part 
of Tirlogh, that when circumstances brought one out, all present 
were more or less touched, and the fierce clansman himself w'as 
so moved on the present occasion that he arose, kicked his seat 
out of the way, and rushed from the room, leaving Sir Phelim 
with a countenance of comical distress, as though he could hardly 
restrain his tears, but fain would appear to laugh, and treat the 
matter as a joke. Genuine, unsophisticated feeling is ever sure 


138 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


to command respect, and notwithstanding the ludicrous gestures 
of the rough chieftain in trying to conceal his emotion there was 
not one of the spectators disposed to laugh. As for Owen he 
arose from his seat with a face expressive of the kindliest feel- 
ing, and crossing the floor to where his kinsman sat, he grasped 
his hand in silence. Nor was honest Phelim insensible to this 
delicate expression of sympathy, for he returned the friendly 
I^ressure and with a quivering lip articulated some words of 
gratitude. 

At last the hour arrived when Owen Roe attired for the occa- 
sion in the full costume of a Celtic chieftain, such as we saw 
him w'ear on his journey from the coast, but that now the Span- 
ish hat was replaced by the national la/rradh — was conducted by 
the chief men of the clan to the seat of royalty on the rath 
of Tulloghoge, and the Kinel-Owen, the stout gallowglass and 
the hardy kern, were ranged around in a vast circle, the inner 
ring of which was composed of the old men of the sept, fathers 
in their generation. Behind and on either side the newly-elect- 
ed chief, were grouped the vai'ious chiefs tributary to the house 
of Nial, some of them, however, represented by their proxies ; 
and O’Hanlon, the hereditary marshal of the Hy-Nial princes, 
stepped forth and placed in the hand of Owen the white wand of 
power and laid upon his shoulders the scarlet cloak of royalty, 
and the princes and the warriors and the aged men bowed down 
before him, and hailed him as chief of the Kinel-Owen. Strange 
to say, amongst the chiefs was seen Sir Phelim of Kinard, but 
he bowed not with the rest, nor did homage at all, other than 
by advancing when the ceremony was over and shaking the new 
chief by the hand. At this sight a wild, enthusiastic cheer burst ' 
from the multitude, and rang through the grand old forest — that 
cheer was for Sir Phelim O’Neill, and such a cheer had his name 
never before drawn forth even in the hey-day of his power. It 
was the expression of popular admiration for this unexpected 
and graceful display of generosity. Truly it was marvellous, all 
things considered. 

Of all the sons of the Kinel-Owen there assembled, not one 
knew the secret of Sir Phelim’s abdication, as it might be called. 
Shamus Beg was the only mortal to whom it had ever been re- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


139 


vealed, and that with an injunction of inviolable secrecy. Little 
did any of the clansmen think that it was the Green Lady who 
had wrought the wondrous change when, on his moonlight jour- 
ney from Dungannon, she met him at a cross-road where he 
stopped to await his followers who had fallen a little behind, and 
charged him in her deep sepulchral voice to resign the chief power 
immediately in favor of Owen Roe, under pain of the most fear- 
ful penalty. 


t 



140 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XL 
“ Shall vre resign 

Our hopes, renounce our rights, forget our wrongs, 

Because an impotent lip beneath a crown 
Cries, ‘ Be it so 7' ” 

Sir a. Hunt. 

“ All that the mind would shrink from of excesses. 

All that the body perpetrates of bad. 

All that we read, hear, dream, of man’s distresses. 

All that the devil would do, if run stark mad — 

Was here let loose.” 

Byron’s I?on Juan. 

Leaving Owen Roe for a brief space to the arduous duties of 
his new office, and the great work of organizing such an army 
as he wished to have cut of the raw levies sent hy the different 
chiefs, we will, with the reader’s good leave, take a passing 
glance at the ancient City of the Tribes, the grand old Queen of 
the West. In all Ireland there was neither town nor city which 
had borne more or done more for the national cause than Gal- 
\?ay of the Normans during the short time which had elapsed 
since her brave people were driven into open rebellion. What 
with the* cold temporizing policy of their powerful neighbor 
Clanrickarde, who was governor of the city and county, and the 
ruthless persecution of young Willoughby, the commander of the 
fort, the tribes of Galway, thoroughly Catholic as they were, had 
no easy card to play. The insurrection had made considerable 
progress in almost every other part of the kingdom before Gal- 
way raised the standard of revolt, and this backwardness was 
owing, not to any indifference on the part of the inhabitants, or 
any want of sympathy with their brethren in other parts, but 
solely because of the wily machinations and insidious policy of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


141 


“ the great Earl,” as those of his yicinity were wont to call him. 
The almost canine ferocity of Willoughby, and his diabolical ha- 
tred of everything Catholic, rendered him the scourge of the 
city, and placed him in open antagonism with the people even 
when the influence of Lord Clanrickarde maintained a superficial 
peace. But fierce passions and strong prejudices (not to speak 
of righteous desires or fixed principles) were at work beneath 
the upper surface, and Galway was, as Clanrickarde well knew, 
in the condition of a mine which needed but a match to blow it 
into combustion. Every few days, or at most, every few weeks, 
little explosions were taking place in various parts of the city 
and its vicinity, which, though amounting to little in themselves, 
were quite sufficient to alarm the ever-watchful loyalty of Clan- 
rickarde. In fact that nobleman was kept in a most unenviable 
state of excitement, ever fearing, and with reason, a tremendous 
outbreak on the part of the citizens, and never able to rely 
upon Willoughby who only kept faith with Papists for just so 
long as it suited his purpose. In the endless difficulties which 
arose between the city and the fort, Clanrickarde was of course 
the umpire, and it often happened that he was hardly settled 
within the strong walls of Oranmore or Clare-Galway,* after 
bringing these unmanageable neighbors to terms, who i presto ! 
came a message from the city complaining of some new iusuit 
on the part of the governor, or vice versa. Now it was that the 
soldiers in the fort above had been amusing themselves throwing 
shell and shot into the city to the great danger and serious de- 
triment of the citizens ; St. Nicholas’ Church, or St. Francis’, or 
St, Augustine’s had been grievously injured by the wanton fire 
from the fort, or perchance some of the wives or daughters of 
the townsmen had been kidnapped and otherwise ill-treated by 
the soldiers. Again it was Willoughby who lodged the complaint 
that the turbulent townsmen had cut ofl* his supplies and refused 
to let his men pass through their limits. Sorely puzzled was 
Ulick Burke, with all his skill in strategy, to preserve even a 

* Two of the principal fortresses of the Be Burgos. Oranmore is 
situate on a peninsula, or rather promontory, stretching far out into the 
beautiful bay of Galway. 


142 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


show of peace between such refractory neighbors, and there were 
times when he was strongly tempted to throw up his office in 
disgust. But, alas ! who then would keep the sturdy Galway men 
to their good behavior, and with bit and bridle bind their jaws 
for the safety of the king’s lieges 1 Who but he could in any 
way control them, and in case he withdrew from his onerous post 
what was to keep them from joining the rebels ? So reasoned 
Ulick Burke, and with the spirit of a martyr he resolved to bear 
all things rather than yield such a triumph to the enemy. So 
long as Willoughby had ihe best of the quarrel, and that they 
could, between them, keep the bold spirit of the townspeople 
within bounds, all was well, but the bare possibility of seeing the 
Confederate colors flying from the high places of the old town 
was gall and wormwood to “ the white-livered De Burgo,” as his 
fellow-Catholics were wont to style him. Not his the heart to 
glory in the noble spirit oozing out day by day from the pores of 
the fair city, the patriotism which not all his power, backed by 
the tyranny of Willoughby, could entirely repress, and the chi- 
valrous deeds achieved within and about the city for the sacred 
cause of liberty and religion. With Clanrickarde, the gallant 
band of young men who boarded and captured that English ship 
in Galway Bay to the great advantage of their party were noth 
ing better than marauders, the O’Flaherties, and the Condons, and 
many another warlike sept who were up in arms for God and 
the right were “ pestilent rebels” well worth a hempen cord 
every man of them. Oh ! Ulick Burke ! great wert thou and 
esteemed wise of men in thy generation, yet fool that thou wert, 
in thy mistaken loyalty, thou didst lick the hand that smote thee, 
and fawn on those who thirsted for the blood of thy best and 
truest friends, the priests and prelates of that Church which thou 
didst wrongfully call mother ! Ulick Burke of Clanrickarde ! a 
fearful load hast thou on thy soul against the great day of reck- 
oning, oh thou ! who might have done much to succor those who 
struggled to the death against oppression and intolerance, but 
instead thereof didst lend thy powerful aid to the tyrant and the 
persecutor ! The Church, thy poor outraged suffering mother, 
judged thee in thy day, and Christ her spouse judged thee beyond 
the grave according to thy deserts, let us then spare our indig- 


•THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


143 


nation, and endeavor to write and read thine acts with pa-tience. 
Pity we may not afford to such a man for he chose his path with 
his eyes open and walked his tortuous w'ay regardless alike of 
admonition, threat or censure, ay ! even the dread censures of 
the Church ! 

On a certain night about the end of July of that year of 1642, 
a stranger of noble presence arrived at the Castle of Oranmore 
in the questionable disguise of a boatman from the Claddagh 
shore opposite. Some half dozen of those brave fellow’s had 
ferried him over, and woe betide the “ covenanting carl” who 
dared to question the identity of any one in their company. For- 
tunately, however, none such were to be found in that vicinity, 
and Clanrickarde’s followers were too well accustomed to the 
unceremonious visits of the Claddagh men to refuse free ingress 
to any of their number. Assuming the rough and somewhat 
discourteous manner of the fishermen, the stranger in question 
told his comrades to remain in the courtyard “ till he’d give his 
message to the great Earla.^^ 

“ By the shield of Clanrickarde !” said a burly Connemara 
man, who, with a score or so others of the Earl’s retainers, was 
lounging about the courtyard, “ by the shield of Clanrickarde, 
boys, that comrade of yours is more of a land-lubber than I evez* 
thought to see a Claddagh man. I wouldn’t give a traneen for 
all the fish he ever took.” 

“ Husht!” said another, “maybe it’s the admiral he’d be!” 

“ You're no conjurer anyhow,” observed one of the fishermen 

“ Why not, ma bouchal I” laughed the good-hutnored moun- 
taineer. 

“ Why, because if you were, you’d never make such a guess 
as that. Our admiral’s face tells its own story wherever he 
goes, and with God’s help he'll never be taken for a land-lubber. 
No, no” — and approaching closer to the group of soldiers, he. 
lowered his voice almost to a whisper — “ there’s one in his coat,’ 
pointing over his shoulder to the door by w'hich the stranger 
had entered the Castle, “ that’s far above the admiral.” 

Sundry exclamations of surprise followed this speech. “What ! 
above the admiral !” cried the man who had first spoken, “ and 
a Claddagh boy says it V' 


144 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ He must be a priest,” observed a wiseacre, whose word was 
law amongst his comrades. 

“ Higher than that,” the fisherman replied, shaking his head. 

“ Good Lord ! can he be a bishop V’ 

“ Have a care what you say, Ewen !” whispered one of his 
comrades to him who had last spoken. 

“Never mind,” cried several of the others, “if there’s a place 
in Ireland’s ground these evil days where that name is sacred, 
it is here — here" — and he stamped his foot on the old pavement ; 
“the De Burgo may join hands with the bloody sassum an’ it 
lists him, but those who follow his banner have a spirit above 
such meanness, as he may find some day to his cost !” 

“ Well said, Terence,” responded a gigantic halberdier from 
Joyce’s country; “so long as we’re only teaching manners to 
the proud Normans of the town abroad Phil Joyce is both ready 
and willing, for God sees we owe them many a grudge— but when 
it comes to pointing as much as a finger at the Catholic army, 
God’s blessing be with it ! oh ! faith, I’d as soon turn on the old 
mother at home — I’m thinking it’s backwards our arms would 
work — awow !” 

“ An’ he he a bishop,” said one of the soldiers, “ you’ve a right 
to let us know, Shan !” addressing one of the boatmen, “ for 
sure you know well enough it’s not often we have the chance of 
seeing one here — that is, of late days, since Ulick More began 
his colloguing with the devil’s chickens !” 

“ Sure we knew you’d be overjoyed to hear it,” the Claddagh 
man made answer, “ an’ that he'd be as safe among you as ” 

“ As he’d be in the Claddagh, Shan,” put in the tall Joyce 
countryman, “ an’ that’s as much as I could say.” 

Meanwliile an interview of a far different kind was going on 
within the Castle. In a circular chamber occupying the second 
floor ef one of the turrets, Clanrickarde stood with reverent mien 
in the presence of that mysterious boatman who occupied a seat 
near the centre of the room. It was strange to see the haughty 
Palatine in scarlet doublet and silken hose, bowing down before 
the wild-looking fisherman in the brown linsey-woolsey tunic 
and truis of the same rude texture, as the latter raised his hand 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


145 


with a menacing air and knit his shaggy brows till the fiery orbs 
they shaded were only visible by their light. 

“Curse me not, good my lord!” said De Burgo soothingly; 
“ bethink thee enough of that hath been done ere now !” 

“ I would curse the father who begot me, did he stand in thy 
shoes, Ulick Burke,” the visitor replied with stem emphasis, 
rising to his feet at the same time ; “ yea, were that father 
whom I loved and honored to play into the hands of God’s 
enemies as thou dost, and lend them help to trample down still 
lower those of his own faith, nay, to crush them as vile worms, 
I would hold him as an enemy, and avoid speech of him as I 
will henceforth do in regard to thee — an’ there come not a change 
in thy words and actions 1” 

“ That may never be, then, my Lord Archbishop,” said Clan- 
rickarde proudly ; “no power on earth could draw me aside from 
the allegiance due to my lawful prince ” 

“ Fool ! fool !” cried the excited prelate, “ w'hat of the alle- 
giance thou owest to God — the King of kings V' 

“ I serve Him when I serve the ruler He hath placed over me,” 
Clanrickarde replied coldly. 

“ But who is to judge how that matter stands 1 ‘Tell me. Lord 
of Clanrickarde, is it not the spiritual rulers of God’s people — 
the ministers of His altars— the expounders of His will '? ” 

“ I know not that — in this case.” 

“ I tell thee, my lord earl, it is so in every case— ay, marry, 
and thou knowest it, too ! — woe — woe unspeakable to the man 
who, professing the Catholic faith, wilfully closes his ears to the 
counsels and admonitions of the Church 1 But time is precious 
and other duties call me hence 1 We may meet no more on 
earth, Earl of Clanrickarde, but I would not willingly give tliee 
up as lost— thou on whom we so much relied — thou who hai-A 
the power to lend a hand to thy oppressed fellow-Catholics sa}’, 
oh say, wilt thou not ^lid us in our struggle for liberty— fnr 
liberty, nay ! for life — wilt thou not, oh chief of the Clan Rick- 
ard 1 — nay, nay, thou wilt not refuse a prince of the Cliurcli 
suing to thee thus lowly on behalf of an oppressed people— nay, 
nay, thou canst not !” And seizing both the Earl’s hands tlie 
prelate leaned forward and peered with his keen dark eyes into 

17 


' l iG 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the half-averted face of De Burgo, as though seeking to read 
the answer there. 

Coldly, and with little or no emotion, Clanrickarde made answer ; 
“ I have sworn allegiance to King Charles, and while breath is 
in my body I mean to keep it inviolate. I pray you, good my 
lord, trouble me no more, but take this as my final answer.” 

“ And thou still persistest in keeping aloof from our Confedera- 
tion, and taking counsel of our enemies V’ 

“ I do, so help me God! and in my poor judgment even your 
grace might do well to follow my example. It ill becometh the 
prelates or pastors of the Church to preach rebellion 1” 

“ Silence, man 1” said the prelate suddenly, and with such 
vehemence that Clanrickarde started and drew back a pace; 
“ silence, I say ! dare not to utter such words in my presence I — • 
traitor to God and His holy Church, faithless, cold-blooded, time- 
serving Christian, dare not to dictate to the hierarchy of this 
martyr-nation. I tell thee, proud minion of a deceitful prince, 
friend and ally of the murderer Willoughby, that the rudest 
kerne who follows the standard of the Catholic army is worth a 
thousand such as thee for all thy pompous titles, and the God 
whom he serves, and for whom he sheds his blood, will exalt 
him in the latter day, when thou shalt be like Judas ‘ in thy ap- 
pointed place.’ I say not where that place will be— it is for 
thee to look to it. Fare thee well, lord, when next we meet it 
may be on the field of battle ” 

“ Good Heavens, your grace cannot mean that you would per- 
sonally take up arms 1” cried Clanrickarde following to the door. 

“ That do I mean and nought else. When such as thou de- 
sertest thy rightful post, even such as I must advance into the 
gap. Pray Heaven it be my lot to fall in a cause so holy and so 
just — but, alas I I am not worthy of the martyr’s crown — ^lioor, 
frail, sinful man that I am 1” 

Mastering himself with that facility which grew out of long 
habit, Clanrickarde hastened after the prelate, praying him to 
partake of some refreshment. 

” Not a mouthful,” he replied, ” not a mouthful of meat or 
drink that belongs to thee shall ever cross my lips — no, no ; I 
will sup at the Claddagh on fish and oaten cake with a draught 


N 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 147 

of water — thy wines and viands were poison to me — and, more- 
over, Ulick ! no Christian may eat or drink within thy walls from 
this time forward — by a statute of the Council of Kilkenny, as 
thou knowest, any one aiding or abetting the enemy doth by 
his o\vn act incur the penalty of excommunication. Mayhap 
thou knowest not that!” he added with bitter irony. 

“ I knew it,” the Earl replied, “ and am much surprised at 
the uncharitable rashness of those who deal so freely in anethe- 
mas — shining lights they are truly ! ” 

“ May God enlighten your eyes, anyhow,” said the Archbishop 
as he stepped into the court and beckoned to his trusty Clad- 
dagh men — “ blinder art thou than the bat that wings his cir- 
cling flight at eve around these towers !” 

“ God help me !” muttered the Earl to himself as he saw his 
men bowing down on either side to crave the blessing which 
the good prelate, seeing himself discovered, was not slow 
in bestowing; “God help me, even mine own retainers have 
little heart for the service put upon them in these evil times. 
See how reverently they bow to that seditious prelate — a plague 
on them for sea-bears that brought him thither, they must bo 
pretty sure of these fellows of mine when they let them so easily 
into the secret — still I know not but it may be as well. Oh ! that 
I could weed such noxious plants out of our hierarchy, then 
would the flame of rebellion soon die out in the land !” 

Of this there was little likelihood so long as the agents of the 
turbulent and intolerant English Parliament were sent in the 
king’s name into Ireland with ample powers to do what mischief 
they could, in short to kill and destroy indiscriminately not only 
all that bore the name of Irish, but such of the English as did 
not immediately attach themselves to them. In accordance with 
the policy carried out by the Lords Justices from the very begin- 
ning, all manner of cruelty and injustice was exercised tow^ards 
the people of the country, evidently with the intention of foment- 
ing a rebellion so lucrative to those righteous rulers. Thus 
Monroe, Stewart, Montgomery, and their confreres in the north, 
Coote and Inchiquin, Cork and Broghill in the other provinces, 
and, though last not least, Willoughby in Galway, carried on the 
war in the true spirit of extermination, sparing neither age, sex, 


148 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


nor condition. Now the sole object Clanrickarde had in view 
was what he called “ putting down the rebellion and restoring 
peace to the country,” and in this he was foiled at every turn 
by the (to him) unaccountable aggressions of Willoughby. No 
sooner had he, with infinite trouble, patched up some venomous 
quarrel between Willoughby and the incensed Catholics, than 
the former, without any known reason, issued out upon the adja- 
cent country, robbing and murdering all before him, and spread- 
ing ruin and desolation wherever he went, or, perchance, on the 
most trivial pretext, discharging fire and shot into the town 
below, sometimes for a whole day without intermission, until 
the burghers were roused to fury and ready to risk all in an 
attack on the fort. News of these things reaching the Earl at 
Oranmore (for he was fain to keep near the city), post haste 
he went to accommodate matters once again, cursing in his 
heart the brutal ally whom the fates had given him in his gov- 
ernment, and Willoughby, in return, hated Clanrickarde as he 
hated all who bore the name of Catholic, and slily laughed in 
his sleeve at the notion of the great De Burgo being his hench- 
man to command, and a right useful tool for all purposes. Not 
content, however, with thwarting the wily statesman in his 
pacific endeavors, good Captain Willoughby sent off a secret 
dispatch to the Parliament in London to have an auxiliary sent 
him on whose aid he knew he could well rely in forcing the 
*' over-patient asses of Galway to gallop off into open rebellion, 
the which would better agree with the malice of their hearts 
than this sneaking hang-dog pace at which they were kept, 
forsooth, by Clanrickarde’s bridle.” 

With this laudable intent, then, Willoughby’s “ familiar” sum- 
moned came, in the person of an English admiral. Lord Forbes 
by name, with an entire fleet at his command. Early in the 
month of August the good people of Galway town, the bay 
shores and the islands were astounded by this unlooked-for and 
most unwelcome apparition, and none more so than Lord Clan- 
rickarde, who felt hurt and offended that such a step had been 
taken without consulting him as governor of*" the county. He 
immediately sent to ascertain the admiral’s intentions and re- 
ceived such an answer as made him more incensed than ever ; 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


149 




In fact, plainly intimating that he, as a Papist, had no right to 
put such questions, and that he should learn, perchance, sooner 
than was pleasing what brought him there. 

The gentle measures employed by this new agent to bring 
the Galway burghers to a proper state of subjection may be 
found in the next chapter. 



150 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ Where, where, for shelter shall the guilty fly. 

When consternation turns the good man pale V* 

Young’s Night Thoughts^ 

“ He saw — and, maddening at the sight. 

Gave his bold bosom to the fight ; 

To tiger rage his soul was driven ; 

# * # * # 

The pale man from his land must fly^ 

Ho would be free— or he would die.” 

It was the seventh day of August when Lord Forbes with 
his squadron made his appearance in Galway Bay to the great 
satisfaction of Willoughby and his Puritan garrison in the fort, 
with whom he immediately exchanged signals. The terror and 
consternation with which the people bordering on the coast 
beheld the approach of this English fleet were but too well 
grounded, as the result showed. Without the slightest provo- 
cation of any kind, or any hostile demonstration whatsoever, the 
admiral dispatched a number of boats to the Clare coast fllled 
with armed men, who, landing, burned and destroyed several 
villages, slaying the defenceless inhabitants without mercy 
wherever they came in their way. 

This sort of exercise, although, doubtless, very pleasing to the 
ruthless strangers, and productive of much amusement to the garri- 
son of the fort as they watched the work of destruction from 
their elevated post,- was not at all to the liking of the natives, 
who, Irish and Papists as they were, had no fancy for such en- 
tertainments got up at the expense of their lives and properties. 
Even Lord Clanrickarde was not over well pleased when mes- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


151 


senger after messenger arrived at the Castle in quick succession 
with news of the devastation going on. There was one little 
reason that made the great and wise Ulick peculiarly averse to 
Forbes’s ihode of pacification, and that was that the villages 
destroyed, and, indeed, most of the countrj* thus laid waste, be- 
longed, as it happened, to himself. In a 'State of commotion 
very unusual with him he ordered out a yacht and proceeded in 
all haste to visit the admiral, supposing that half a dozen words 
of advice from him would be amply sufficient. Great was his 
surprise, and greater still his indignation when Forbes cut his 
dignified remonstrance very short, with a rough assurance that 
the work he complained of was but beginning, for that, ‘^with 
God’s good aid, it was his intention, as it was also his instruc- 
tions, to slay as many of the children of wrath and perdition as 
avenging justice sent in his way.” 

“ Is Lord Forbes aware that / am a Catholic 1” demanded 
the Earl sternly. 

“ I have heard as much,” replied the ungracious admiral with 
something like a smile on his vinegar face. “ I will give you the 
benefit of the doubt arising from your well-known loyalty — I will 
judge you by your acts rather than your profession — and do, 
therefore, consider you as entitled to certain immunities.” 

“ Immunities ! what immunities, I pray your lordship 1” 

“ Why, immunity from detention, for instance,” replied the 
Scotch lord with the same sinister smile as before ; “ think 
you I would suffer an undouhted Papist — any other, in fact, but 
my Lord Clanrickarde” — and he bowed with ironical respect — 
“ to quit this ship — alive P’ 

“ My Lord Forbes !” said the Earl haughtily, “ an’ such be 
your manner of jesting I like it not, nor do I deem it becoming 
in your circumstances. An’ you knew it not before, or other- 
wise are oblivious of the fact, I would remind you that I am 
ruler in these parts, .appointed by the king’s majesty.” 

“ And I would remind you, my Lord of Clanrickarde,” repl'ed 
the caustic Admiral, “ that I am ruler in these waters— for so 
long as it listeth me to remain — holding from a higher power 
stilT ” 

“ I pray your lordship to explain that latter phrase,” said the 


152 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


self-possessed Clanrickarde ; “ I know of no lugher power in this 
realm than that which I have named — to wit, Charles, King of 
England,” and he reverently raised his plumed hat from off his 
hrow. • 

“ I hold from the Parliament of England,” Forhes returned 
with an ironical smile at the graceful gesture which at once 
expressed the other’s loyalty and his high court breeding. 

“ You shall answer for this, my Lord Forbes,” said Clanrickarde 
angrily ; “ such an insinuation as your words convey no subject 
of King Charles may or ought to hear.” 

“ Better the Parliament surely than the Pope,” retorted the 
Scotchman, bitterly. 

‘ I came not here to bandy words,” said the Earl coldly, “ but 
rather to give you an advice which you will do well to follow. 
In case you persist in your insane course, I wish you to un- 
deretand that you do it at a risk, seeing that the people of these 
parts are now peaceably inclined and disposed to live as good 
and loyal subjects, forgetful of all that hath been done to them 
by Captain Willoughby and his men here of late ; this is owing, 
I tell you plainly, to my humble endeavors, the which hath cost 
me infinite trouble and much cost — an’ you now, with the aid of 
Master Willoughby, disturb this so happy state of things by pro- 
voking the king’s lieges to break the peace, I say, you will bo 
responsible for all the consequences-^are you willing to run this 
risk I” 

“ I will do as I please,” replied Forbes very shortly ; “ I know 
the work before me and I will do it, with Heaven’s aid. What 
ho ! there, my Lord of Clanrickarde’s yacht ! — I pray your lord- 
ship to excuse me,” he said with mock courtesy, “ but your visit 
hath already outstript your welcome.” 

“ Suffer him not to depart,” said a harsh, stern voice from 
behind the admiral; “accursed be thou an’ thou sparest even 
one of these Ammonites — smite him, Henry Forbes ! ay, even 
with the edge of the sword!” And the speaker advancing, 
broke upon the astonished vision of Clanrickarde in the guise of 
a Puritan preacher, fierce, wild, gaunt, and enthusiastic, with 
a fire something akin to insanity gleaming or rather shooting 
from his largo, angular-shaped eyes. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


153 


“ Softly, softly, Mr. Peters,” said Forbes in the most persua- 
sive tone he knew how to assume, and he placed his hand before 
his strange chaplain to bar his farther progress in the direction 
of the Papist lord, — “ softly,” he repeated, lowering his voice to 
a whisper, “ it were unsafe to harm him. An’ thou lovcst mo, 
keep thy mouth closed till he be out of hearing. Nay, I will 
have it so — I will explain when he is gone hence.” 

Lord Clanrickarde could not catch the words, but he guessed 
their import, and it amused him no little to see the rampant 
fanaticism of Peters so far outstripping the wily caution of his 
no less intolerant patron. As he descended the ship’s side, he 
heard the chaplain pronounce a stern anathema on the sinful 
“ compliance,” as he phrased it, of the Admiral. 

“ A heavy judgment will fall upon thee, Henry Forbes,” said 
the meek Christian minister, “ for as much as thou couldst have 
cut off one of the heads of this monster, even Popery, and did 
not, — yea, when he was delivered unto thee, this double-faced 
minion, that thou mightest execute judgment upon him — in that 
thou didst not smite him with the edge of the sword, I say unto 
thee thou hast sinned grievously, and incurred the sentence of 
wrath ! So, he goeth hence in his pride, that man of evil ways, 
goeth hence to do the will of the tyrant Charles Stuart — yea, 
verily, he laughs — laughs at thy wicked compliance to the 
enemy — avaunt, servant of the evil one” — and he shook his 
clenched fist at the Earl now speeding over the water in his 
graceful little bark — “ I spit upon thee,” he called out in a still 
louder voice, “ and will bear testimony against thee with all the 
strength of my body as a whited sepulchre full of all unclean- 
ness. Avaunt, son of the scarlet woman who sitteth on the seven 
hills !” 

Clanrickarde only smiled at this rhapsody, the more so as he 
saw Forbes endeavoring, with all his might, to keep the furious 
preacher within some bounds of decency, but the threatening 
gestures of the man did not escape the keen eyes of the Earl’s 
retainers in the boat, and their indignation was so strongly ex- 
cited, that it required the positive commands of their lord to 
keep them from shooting him. 

“Not so, friends,” said the politic Earl, “not so — I hold the 


154 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


man as of unsound mind, and esteem him more an object of pity 
than of anger. Lower your muskets, I charge ye !” 

It was not without reluctance that the Connaught men obeyed, 
but when de Burgo declared his will it was not to be disputed 
with impunity, and so the rabid chaplain of the fleet escaped for 
that time. 

Whether the Earl’s surmise as to Peters’ saneness of mind 
was correct or not, that worthy had so fast a hold on the under- 
standing of his patron that in most cases he moulded him to 
his own purposes. Hence it was, and under such guidance, 
that the good citizens of Galway and the people of the adjoin- 
ing country were hunted to death as enemies, nay, rather as 
outlaws, by the horde of merciless fanatics who manned the 
fleet, men to whose breasts compassion was a stranger, and 
charity a word unknown. Willoughby and his garrison troopers 
were a scourge to the old city, but Forbes and his Scotch fanatics 
were as fiends incarnate, inventing in their monstrous cruelty 
and detestation of the Irish such works of horror as make the 
flesh creep on one’s bones to think of. 

Who can imagine the horror and dismay of the Catholic peo- 
ple of Galway when news came into the city that St. Mary’s 
Church, situate in the west suburbs,* was in the hands of the 
Puritans. From its peculiar situation, on the crown of a hill 
sloping downwards to the bay, and commanding the whole of 
the west suburbs, with a portion of the city proper, this edifice 
attracted the notice of the Scotch admiral, who, perceiving at a 
glance its importance as a military post, without loss of time 
threw a garrison into it, and mounting his guns on every avail- 
able point, opened a cannonade on the city. At the same mo- 
ment, as though they acted in full concert, the cannon from the 
fort raked the streets of the devoted city, whoso people were 
guilty of no other ofience than a too close adherence to the pacific 
counsels of Lord Clanrickarde. They professed loyalty and prac- 

* Those who have read Maureen Dunwill remember the situation 
of this Church, being identical with that of the Dominican Priory, so 
often referred to in that story. It still bears the name of St. Mary’s, 
and is the parish Church of the Claddagh. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


155 


Used neutrality ever since the noble effort of the young men 
had been quashed by the machiavelian policy of that most wily 
statesman and cold-hearted politician. The guns of Willoughby 
and Forbes spoke the thanks of their Puritan rulers for the 
humble submission of the Galway tribes. 

How the proud Lynches, and Browns, and Blakes, the merchant 
nobles of Galway, cursed the easy credulity which had madei 
them the dupes of Clanrickarde, as the shell and shot from the 
opposite extremities raked the city from end to end, the cross- 
fire from the fort and, oh wo of woes ! from St. Mary’s holy hill, 
sweeping the streets and avenues of the old town ! How the 
women and the old men and little children crept, under cover 
of projecting walls and archways, and through by-lanes, to the 
shelter of the churches where they had worshipped God in 
peace in days not long past, and how fervently they prayed to 
the good St. Nicholas, St. Francis or St. Augustine, as the case 
might be, to hear their sorrowful supplications, and protect them 
from the fury of those who were athirst for their blood ! For 
many days their prayers seemed to avail not, and heavier 
grew the hearts of these helpless petitioners as time rolled cn 
and succor came not, and the ear of heaven seemed closed 
against them. As for the stout burghers of Galway, little recked 
they that bomb and mortar were dealing death around ; fear was 
unknown to their brave hearts, and every shot that re-echoed 
through their streets, every one of their fellow-citizens stricken 
to death, did but add new fuel to the fiame kindled in their souls 
by recent events. The fighting men of the city were one and all 
filled with the spirit of those who captured the English ships in 
their harbor, and the gallant young men who accomplished that 
feat were now in the changed circumstances of the city, almost 
deified by the populace, who before had regarded them, through 
the loyal medium of Clanrickarde’s judgment, as “ dangerous 
and seditious.” Now things were all changed, and the City of . 
the Tribes was at last thoroughly identified with the national 
cause, thanks to the laudable exertions of Willoughby and his 
new naval auxiliary. 

The municipal council of the city was sitting one day in earnest 
deliberation, with the patriotic mayor, Richard Martin, at their 


156 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


head. All at once a tremendous commotion was heard outside, 
and the aldermen starting to their feet looked each other in the 
face, as though fearing what they dared not utter, that the Puri- 
tans had broken into the town. While they stood deliberating 
what course they should take for the protection of life and pro- 
perty, if so be any chance of protection remained to them, the 
door was flung wide open, and in rushed a wild, yet warlike 
figure, arrayed in the ancient Celtic costume. Surprise made 
those men of Galway pale, as the warrior stood panting before 
them, for seldom indeed were Galway stones pressed by the 
foot of the dispossessed chieftain of Ir-Connaught, the bold, im- 
petuous young leader, Murrough na Dhu. All knew his dark, 
handsome face, but no one cared to speak his recognition, for 
had they put their thought.s in words it would have been in the 
phrase of fair Eleanor’s father addressed to young Lochinvar : 

“ Oh ooms’t thou In peace, or coms’t thou in war,” 

for sooth to say the warlike O’Flaherties were deemed no safe 
neighbors by the Norman burghers of Galway town. Nor was 
the chiefs appearance, or his gestures on the occasion, by any 
means calculated to re-assure t hem. 

Before any one else had spoken he spoke himself. “ Men of 
Galway !” said he in his own rich and musical tongue,* “ why sit 
ye here in idle parley when the foul fiend is working his will at 
your very doors by the hands of yonder Scotch imps of his V' 

“ We know it, brave chief!” said the mayor dejectedly, “ but 
what can we do with such overwhelming odds against us '1 Even 
now are we met to consult together if perchance anything could 
be done on behalf of our poor city, but as yet God hath not en- 
lightened us on that head. Alack ! alack ! we know full well 
what is going on on either side of us 1” 

“ Still I tell you,” cried the chieftain, “ you know it not — ha ! 
hear ye those shouts of wrath and vengeance 1 Ay I ay ! they 
may shout till their throats are hoarse but avail it will not— come 
hither. Bichard Martin” — and seizing the astonished mayor by 

*• The Connemara Irish is said to be about the purest vernacular of 
that tongue. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


157 


the arm he drew him to the still open door, the others following 
as though by instinct — “ there — look towards the west ! — see you 
that flame V’ 

“Great God! I do, what may it meanl Are they burning 
the Claddagh 'I — the Are seemeth in that direction ! Alas ! alas I 
for our brave poor fishermen 1 that surely is their village ! ’ 

“Not so,” replied O’Flaherty in a strange hoarse voice; “ not 
so, Richard Martin I Wouldst know what food it be that feedelh 
yonder lurid flame, I will tell thee. It is the bones of the dead 
and their mouldering cofiins and the flesh that the worm hath 
spared in the earth below ” 

“ Merciful Heaven ! what mean you ?” 

“ I mean that these earth-born devils, finding themselves un- 
able to come at you or me, or such other wild animals, did dig 
up the dead from their graves in St. Mary’s churchyard, and 
having first enjoyed to their hearts’ contept the pleasant recrea- 
tion of kicking and smashing the poor remains of mortality, they 
have e'en made a bonfire of them,* the which. Mayor of Galway 1 
your eyes may see. Hal ha ! that smoke is black, and thick, 
and heavy, — little wonder, for methinks It cometh from hell’s 
fire I” 

Various exclamations of horror escaped the listeners, then more 
numerous than at first, as people were coming from all direc- 
tions to the Town Hall hoping to have their curiosity gratified 
as to the cause of this new commotion, forgetting the danger to 
which they were exposed. O’Flaherty was not slow to fan the 
flame which his tidings had enkindled, and his burning words 
roused the men of Galway into sudden and vigorous life. The 
lethargy into which they had of late fallen vanished at the touch 
of this new magician, and the hot old blood of Galway arose in 
fury, ready to do and dare all things whatsoever the so-lately 
dreaded O’Flaherty advised. Elated at the thought of having 

* This hideous fact is historically true. All the historians of that 
period, as well Protestant as Catholic, mention this sacrilegious deed 
of Forbes. See Hardiman’s Hist Galiray, Warner’s Civil TTars, Ac., 
Ac. Would any but a Puritan commander ever devise such an act of 
sacrilege, so horrible, so useless to the perpetrators ? 


158 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


SO gallant a chieftain for their leader, the citizens cried out that 
the fort must be taken. To this, however, the mayor objected 
as a rash and unsafe step, and Murrough na Dhu, after a mo- 
ment’s thought, took the same view of it. 

“ It were but to ensure the destruction of your city and a fear- 
ful loss of life,” said he, “ to attack the fort now— while that 
devil-begotten Forbes is in front of us with his fleet — but wait, 
my friends, wait till he departs hence and, my life for it, Wil- 
loughby and his hornet’s nest shall be scattered to the winds — 
leave the matter to me, friends and fellow-Catholics, as ye have 
so far honored me, and, by the bones of the outraged dead on 
yonder hill, this plague-spot shall be taken from your midst- 
ay ! were Clanrickarde himself within it !” 

“ But bethink thee, good youth,” said the mayor, laying his 
hand on the chieftain’s shoulder, “ that ere Forbes move hence 
the greater part of our poor citizens may meet their death ! were 
it not better to stir at once 1 An’ the fort were silenced, we 
could easier defend ourselves against the Are from St. Mary’s 
Hill.” 

“We may not do it, Kichard Martin !” the chief replied as he 
glanced upwards at the commanding fortress ; “ an’ we did, it 
would but draw on your city a terrible vengeance from yonder 
accursed fleet — wait, I tell you, we shall have our opportunity 
an’ wo be not rash. Fare ye well ! I must home to my own 
people to prepare them for giving that support which you may 
need.” 

He was moving away regardless of the discontented murmurs 
of the populace, when the mayor again addressed him. 

“ Murrough O’Flaherty, you are brave and generous or report 
belieth you — much have you done in your own person for the 
righteous cause — may we depend upon your assistance or rather 
your guidance I — you will not fail us in our need V' 

“ I have said it,” Murrough made answer, drawing himself up 
to the full height of his lofty stature ; “ when did a prince of the 
O’Flahertys fail to redeem his plighted word I Brave hearts 
have ye here within your city, and with God’s good aid, we shall ' 
take the fort as easily as they took a ship of war, against odds 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


159 


still grejtter ! Once more, farewell, and God be with ye till we 
meet again.” 

For two whole weeks after that was Galway exposed to the 
double cannonade, and her harassed inhabitants already began 
to think of capitulating, for Lord Clanrickarde, as usual, was 
negotiating for what he called “ peace.” Anxiously the citizens 
looked towards the far mountains of Jar-Connaught, but no war- 
like band was seen to issue thence, nor did Murrough appear to 
redeem his promise. Despair was taking possession of the 
mayor and the aldermen, and they had all but determined on 
following the Earl’s advice on his promise of obtaining favorable 
terms for them ; but better things were in store for the suffering 
townspeople. All at once the prayers so long offered up in vain, 
as it would seem, were heard above. Without any apparent rea- 
son for so doing, Lord Forbes moved off with his fleet one flne 
day, making no one the wiser as to why he went, and before 
Willoughby had recovered the shock of his ally’s unaccountable 
disappearance, Murrough no, Dim was again in the city, this 
time with a company of his chosen men, and being immediately 
joined by the bravest and most experienced of the citizen sol- 
diers, they took the fort by storm, put its garrison to the sword, 
and demolished the walls that they might never again harbor 
an English garrison. Strange, and not less creditable than 
strange, is the fact that Willoughby was included in the terms of 
capitulation and suffered to escape to England. 

How different were the conduct of the people’s enemies had 
they a popular leader in their hands, even less obnoxious than 
Willougnby ! , 



160 


THE CONFEDERATE CHJEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ The keen spirit 

Seizes the prompt occasion, — makes the thoughts 

Start into instant action, and at once 

Plans and performs, resolves and executes !” 

IIann'AH More. 

“ Night closed around the Conqueror’s way 
And lightnings show’d the distant hill. 

Where those who lost that fatal day 
Stood few and faint, but fearless still.” 

Moore’s Irish Melodics. 

Whilst the Puritan admiral was wreaking his impotent fury, 
as we have described, on the mouldering hones of the Claddagh 
villagers in St. Mary’s churchyard, General Barry was advancing 
with a large army into the county of Cork, where the principal 
places of strength w’ere in the hands of the enemy, foremost 
amongst whom was the Earl of Cork with his seven warlike sons, 
all officers of some note. Lord Broghill, the third in age, is al- 
ready known to the reader as one of the best captains o^that 
day, and of the others. Lord Kinalmeaky, although young in 
years, was already noted for his savage ferocity* which appears 
to have endeared him to his amiable parent, for we find that 
illustrious and most successful adventurer writing to the Earl of 
Warwick after one of the engagements which had proved fatal 
to the Confederates : 

“And now that the boy hath blooded himself upon them, I 
hope that God will bless him ; that as I now write but of the 
killing of an hundred, I shall shortly write of the killing of 
thousands.”* 


* Smith’s History of Cork. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 161 

I 

Such was the spirit which actuated the Puritan generals of 
that day, and such were the men, bold, brave, cruel and unprin- 
cipled, with whom the Confederate leaders had to deal. The 
seaports of the noble county of Cork were chiefly in the hands 
of the Puritan generals, as was also the greater portion of the 
interior, but Robert Barry was not the man to shrink from diffi- 
culties which his own valor and prudence might surmount, and 
thus in a hopeful spirit he undertook this Cork campaign. 
Passing rapidly through the country, and dexterously avoiding 
the various detachments of the enemy’s forces scattered over the 
district, he took many of the strongest castles from the hands of 
the Puritans, amongst others Sir Philip Percival’s famous Castle 
of Liscarroll, as the reader has already seen. Although the cap- 
ture of this fortress was justly esteemed a great triumph for the 
Confederates, still there were those amongst Barry’s ofiicers who 
considered it a loss of time, especially as Annagh Castle, another 
of Percival’s, with some other fortresses in that county, were 
besieged at the same time, which necessarily weakened the Ca- 
tholic forces. But Barry would not hear of passing so much as 
one stronghold that could or did shelter a Puritan band, and 
notwithstanding the singular dispatch wherewith he took them 
one after the other, weeks of very precious time were lost. 
Flushed with conquest, Barry unhappily forgot to attend to what 
was passing around him. 

The last day of August had arrived, and the victorious gene- 
ral was still projecting the seizure of other castles. At evening 
he stood with one of his officers, surveying from a distance the 
fine old fortalice of Cloghleigh, seated on a commanding emin- 
ence, and he said to his companion that with God’s blessing they 
should call it theirs before the week ended 

“ An’ you do. General Barry, you will rue it all the days you 
have to live,” said a quiet-looking gentleman of middle age, who 
under favor of his Celtic costume had approached the outskirts 
of the ai-my unperceived, and dismounting from a smooth nag, 
whose bridle hung carelessly over his arm, he joined the two 
officers with the air of one who felt himself their equal. 

“ How is that, friend 1” said BaiTy with a start. 

“ Why, your scouts are not worth much or you would know 


1G2 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


ere now ibat Inchiquin is within a few hours’ journey with a 
force far superior to yours.” 

“Say you so, good sir?” exclaimed Barry cheerfully, his 
thin pale lip curved with a scornful smile. “ By St. Brendan 
the Mariner, I am right glad to hear it. I have been long de- 
sirous to have a tilt with Murrough. But were he within a mifd>,, 
yonder castle must be ours — it sits so gracefully looking down 
on those two fair streams,* queen and mistress of both.” 

“ Heed not the castle,” said the quiet stranger, “ you have 
castles enough in these parts to protect your friends. Rather 
collect your scattered forces and advance to meet Inchiquin, ere 
lie have time to bring more troops together.” 

“ You are more of a soldier, friend, than one would take you 
for,” observed the other officer, as he glanced with a smile over 
the heavy frame and placid countenance of the stranger. “ His 
advice is good, General Barry, and we might do worse than fol- 
low it.” 

“ But the castle,” said the general with his eyes still fixed on 
it, “ surely a few hours would suffice to take it with such a force 
as ours.” 

“ I tell you let the castle be,” said the stranger testily ; “ one 
would think you were the disinherited Condon himself that 
you make so much ado about the old rookery ! An’ you stay to 
take it, I swear you shall never set foot within its wails.” 

“ Do you threaten me, sir ?” said Barry haughtily. 

“ I threaten you not,” the other calmly replied ; “ I do but tell 
you what I know will come to pass. I take my leave of you. 
General Barry ! and you, Lord Skerrin” — that officer started on 
hearing his name pronounced so unexpectedly — “ an’ I had 
yonder force at my command, Murrough of the Burnings should 
be brought to a stand before he were a day older !” 

The strange adviser leisurely mounted his nag, and was turn- 
ing away down a bridle road, in the direction leading from the 

* This old fortress of the Condons occupies a commanding site near 
the confluence of the Funcheon and tho Araglin. See Parliam, 
Gazetteer of Ireland, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


1G3 


camp, when Lord Skerrin hastened after him, and laying his 
hand on his saddle looked inquiringly up into his face : 

“ Are you a soldier, friend 1” he asked ; “ hast ever fought 
these Puritans V* 

“ I have seen fighting,” was the curt reply, and, clapping spurs 
to his little steed, the stranger and it bounded ofi* at a light gal- 
lop, away and away — 

“ — over brake, brush and scraur,” 

turning his head once to make a warning gesture ere he plunged 
into the depth of a narrow defile lying some hundreds of yards 
ofi* between two steep banks of earth. 

Whatever effect this singular visit had on Barry he chose not 
to declare even to Lord Skerrin, but a council of war was sum- 
moned by him that very night, and by the light of the camp 
fire orders were issued to call in all the scattered detachments 
of the army. By the morning’s dawn the troops were under 
march, in the direction of Inchiquin’s supposed position. As the 
general; with Lords Skerrin and Dunboyne, and some other 
oflScers of rank were about to hasten after the rear division, he 
turned his eyes in the direction of Cloghleigh Castle, behind 
whose battlements the sun was just appearing. ^ Great Heavens ! 
what sight was there that he looked and looked again, then 
rubbed his eyes, and finally turning to his friends asked what 
fiag was that fioating from the keep. 

An exclamation of surprise and pleasure escaped from every 
mouth. 

“ Our own colors, by the rood !” cried Skerrin joyfully ; “ see 
an’ they be not !” 

“Surely yes,” said the more phlegmatic Dunboyne, “that is 
beyond a doubt, methinks, but how came they there I” 

“ God alone knows,” Barry replied with a thoughtful air. 

“ And our demure friend of yesternight, general,” said Skerrin 
with a smile, “ quiet and cool as he seemed, methinks he hath 
moved in this matter. He told me he had seen fighting in his time, 
but I would wager this new casque of mine against yonder 
kern’s deer-skin” — pointing to an individual in the saffron- 
dyed doublet of the Irish foot-soldiers who stood smweying their 


164 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


party at his leisure leaning against the trunk of an aged beech 
— “ I would make that bet, I say, that the drowsy-looking per- 
sonage I have named fought and fought well last night while we 
slept. What think you, Barry I” 

Before the general could answer a wild cheer broke from 
the long lines of the advancing army, and the glittering pikes 
and shining blades and waving banners suddenly came to a stop. 
The amazing sight of their own colors floating over a castle 
which they had never summoned to surrender had likewise 
attracted the eyes of the soldiers, and cheer after cheer rent 
the skies in joyful recognition. " 

“You guess well, my Lord Skerrin,” said he of the saffron 
doublet, without moving an inch;” your friend of yesternight 
knoweth full well how your colors came on yonder flag-statf, 
seeing that he placed them there himself.” i 

“ I knew it,” said Skerrin with an exulting smile ; “ I knew 
there was more in that man than met the eye. But who may 
he be, good fellow, and how came he to take the castle V’ 

“ He is the lord of Condon’s country,” said the kern advanc- 
ing from under the tree with a heightened color on his sallow 
cheek, “ that is to say the rightful lord, for all that he owneth 
not a foot of land at this hour.” 

“ And his name T’ questioned Barry. 

“ The English call him Arthur Condon, by the sept he i.s still 
known as the Condon^ lord of Cloghleigh and all the land ' for 
miles around.” 

“We have heard the story of his wrongs, but, I say again, 
how did he come to take the castle, well garrisoned and well 
provided as it was T’ 

“ The stout arms of the Condons took it,” the man replied with 
sudden animation, “ their stout arms and their trusty pikes.” 

“Had they nought else but pikes T’ 

‘ “ A few muskets they had — some of them little use from rust 
— but such arms as they had they made the most of.” 

Various expressions of admiration escaped the officers present 
and Barry suddenly asked: “Were you there, good friend, 
when the castle was taken T’ 

A roguish smile beamed out on the quiet face of the kem like 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


165 


sunlight from forth a heavy cloud : “ Well ! general, as you put 
the question, I suppose it's no "treason to say I was looking on.” 

“ By my patron St. George,” cried Skerrin, as stepping for- 
ward he looked into the stranger’s face, “ an’ I mistake not, you 
are our informant of yesternight — yes, yes, I see it now.” 

“ I admit the fact,” said the other, still smiling, 

“ Ha ! and your name I” asked Barry and Skerrin in a breath. 
“ Arthur Condon, the chief man of that name, although a 
very poor one, but such as he is, very much at the service of 
General Barry and subject to his order” — and he bowed with the 
easy self-possession of a gentleman. 

“ I am much beholden to you, sir,” said the general, and he 
warmly shook him by the hand ; “ your achievement of last 
night shows the value of your co-operation. But methinks your 
present habiliments belie your condition — wherefore that dis- 
guise V’ 

“ You ask me frankly, general, and I will tell you: from an 
itching I had to see how the surprise 1 planned would aflfect you 
all, myself noticed by none. But I see the army is again in mo- 
tion — pardon me, lords and gentlemen, in that I have detained 
you over long when moments are so precious.” 

“One moment more. Master Condon,” said Birry, as he 
placed his foot in the stirrup ready to mount the charger vvhicii 
a horse-boy held by the bridle ; “ you that can take such strong- 
holds as that” — pointing to the castle — “ must needs have valiant 
men at your command — could you not spare us some V’ 

“ Not a man, general,” said Condon with a blunt determina- 
tion which surprised all and made the courtly Norman nobles 
who surrounded Barry look at each other with wondering eyes. 

“ Not a man !” the general repeated in blank surprise, “and 
wherefore not, you who but now offered your services so freely 1” 
“ Why, because, general, we can serve you better here at home 
—this is Condon's country, you know, so called in past times, 
now only in name, but with God and Our Lady’s aid we mean to 
make it so at this juncture, were it but for religion’s dear sake, 
that our altars may once more arise from the dust, and our 
priests stand before them vested as of old. We would see yon- 
der flag streaming from every fort within our ancient borders 


166 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and to that end we follow not the army as our hearts would de- 
sire, but rather do your work here as we of the soil only can. 
Fare ye well, noble gentlemen, and God speed ye ! when next 
you come this way you will find the country all your own, or 
learn that Arthur Condon hath found a grave in the land he loved 
— in any case, my heart is with you, and my life devoted to your 
sacred cause! Hark! your trumpets call! — would that I too 
might obey the summons, but here my lot is cast — here — at least 
for a time — is my sphere of action — retributive justice will have 
it so !” 

As if inspired by reason his nag approached him at this mo- 
ment from the gap of a neighboring fence, and leaping on its 
back with the lightness of five-and-twenty, the chieftain waved 
a parting salute and disappeared by the same opening, leaving 
Barry and his officers filled with admiration as well as surprise. 

The gallant Condon well redeemed his pledge, as the chroni- 
cles of those days bear witness,* and his brave spirit infused life 
and vigor into many who before were weak and wavering. 

But, alas! for the fine army led by Barry to meet the foe that 
morning. Had he advanced a week sooner, before Lord Inchi- 
quin had had time to collect his scattered forces, he might have 
obtained such a victory as would strike terror into the enemy, 
but unfortunately it turned out as Condon had feared that the 
time spent by the Confederates in taking castles had been turned 
to still better account by Inchiquin, and enabled him to retrieve 
the series of minor defeats which had left him well nigh without 
an army and badly furnished with provisions for what he had. 
This state of things was well known to Barry and others of the 
Confederate leaders, and relying on it, they had been tempted 
to secure as much of the country as they possibly could. Hear- 
ing now that Inchiquin was somewhere in the neighborhood of 
Liscarroll they marched thither with all haste, and learning from 
their scouts that he was advancing towards them, they took up 
a position on the third day of September on an eminence not lar 
from the castle. 

* “ The sept of the Condons were giving the Confederate leaders 
the most effectual assistance in another part of the country.” — Mee- 
han’s Confed , Kilk.^ chap. I. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


167 


Gieil, was the surprise of the Confederate generals when the 
enemy came in sight, to find him some thousands strong in foot 
•with several troops of horse. Lord Inchiquin himself com- 
manded the centre of three divisions, and with him as a volun- 
teer was Lord Kinalmeaky. Other officers of experience led on 
the other divisions, and the men, as it happened, had far the 
advantage of Barry’s in point of discipline. This the Confede- 
rate leaders saw, and they prudently resolved to allow the enemy 
to exhaust his strength in a charge. And bravely the men of 
Munster withstood the fierce onslaught, their serried pikes form- 
ing, as it were, an iron rampart which no force of the enemy 
could break through. The Puritans fell back in some confusion, 
for Inchiquin had received a dangerous wound and many other 
officers had sustained more or less injury at the hands of the 
formidable pikemen. The Irish charged in turn, and their 
charge was also bravely resisted; orders were then given on 
both sides for a general attack, and when it came to close quar- 
ters the training and discipline and greater experience of the 
enemy became apparent. Fighting hand to hand the officers 
were seen engaged in mortal combat, and many a chivalrous 
deed of valor marked that fatal scene ; Inchiquin removed to a 
place of safety, watched the fight with eyes starting from their 
sockets, and a whirlwind of passion sweeping athwart his impe- 
tuous soul. One after one he beheld his officers disappearing, 
either carried wounded from the field or sinking amid the slain, 
but still his forces kept their ground, and his fiinty heart little 
recked who fell so long as victory forsook not his banners. 
Vavasour was there and Kinalmeaky, and their waving plumes 
were security against defeat. All at once a wild shout of exult- 
ation arose from the ranks of the Confederates, and rang far 
over hill and dell : 

“ Kinalmeaky is down ! Kinalmeaky is down ! — death to the 
Puritans ! ’ and as though the fall of that destroying fiend had 
inspired the Catholics with fresh courage, and their enemies 
with despair, the serried ranks of the latter began suddenly to 
waver, and Inchiquin, forgetful of his wound, raised himself 
from the ground with a mighty effort and waved his arm with 
frantic energy : 


168 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Vavasour ! Percival ! — we are lost, an’ they force you down 
Uie hill ! Heavens ! what are you about 1 Ha ! they waver 
now ! Now, Vavasour ! on them — on them — slay them without 
mercy — no quarter — no quarter, I say ! — they fly — by the great 
Immortal, they fly ! After them and the day is ours !” 

And so it was. Sir Charles Vavasour, an aged and experienced 
officer, on whom the command devolved, seeing the discourage- 
ment of his troops after Kinalmeaky’s fall, and the corresponding 
exultation of the Confederates, applied his whole energy and 
skill to rally his despairing battalions and bring them up for 
another charge. He succeeded, and the desperate courage 
which his words had infused into his men so nerved their arms 
and edged their swords that their attack was irresistible. Rush- 
ing with headlong force against the line of the Confederates now 
sadly thinned, their bayonets and sabres did fearful execution, and 
their cavalry dashing in on the wavering ranks trampled down 
all before them. The Irish, seized with a sudden panic, broke 
and fled in disorder towards a bog which lay at a little distance. 
After them like blood-hounds rushed the Puritans, urged on by 
the cries of their ruthless commanders. 

“Cut them down ! down ! every man of them !” 

“No quarter, as you fear the righteous God !” 

“ De^th to the brood of the scarlet woman !” 

Wounded as he was, the sight of the flying Catholics and the 
cries of the pursuers so inflamed the natural ferocity of Inchi- 
quin that, despite the entreaties of his attendants, he sprang on 
his horse and darted off to join the chase, looking like the ghost 
of some hideous murderer, with his ghastly haggard face and 
blood-stained garments. Before the main body of the Irish army 
had been formed into order for retreat by the exertions of its 
brave but (on that occasion) unfortunate commanders, several 
hundreds had already perished in that fatal morass by the 
merciless swords and bayonets of the Puritans. Just as the rear 
guard was formed, almost in the face of the enemy, night sud- 
denly closed in dark and moonless, and the victors, still unsa- 
tiated with blood, were stopped in full pursuit. 

Better acquainted with the locality than their enemies, the 
Confederates continued their march all night, and long before 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


IGO 


the dawn had placed a wide stretch of country between them 
and their pursuers. Saddened and discouraged they were, but still 
unsubdued, and burning for an opportunity to retrieve their 
losses and efface the stain of that day’s disgrace from the banners 
they had saved with so much blood. Heavy as was their loss, 
moreover, they had still the poor consolation of knowing that the 
enemy counted well nigh as much, and, above all, they thought 
with the stern joy of avengers that if there was sorrow in their 
camp that night there should be wailing on the morrow in the 
princely halls of Lisraore* over one of the cruellest of their 
oppressors. 

* Lismore Castle was then and long after the dwelling of the 
Boyles, Earls of Cork. 

18 



170 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 

Which falls into mine ear as profitless 
As water in a sieve.” 

Shakespeaue 


“ And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly. 

But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.” 

Shakespeare. 

“ To make the cunning artless, tame the rude. 

Subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted soul — 

These are the triumphs of all powerful beauty.” 

Joanna Baillie. 

While Barry and his brave associates were sustaining with 
varying fortune in Munster and Leinster the cause of religion and 
liberty, Owen Roe was quietly and cautiously biding his time, 
training his army according to the newer and more approved 
modes of warfare practised on the continent, so that when the 
time came for his taking the field he might meet his opponents 
on, at least, equal terms. He was busily engaged one day 
towards the end of August directing the evolutions of a body of 
cavalry on a common outside the town of Charlemont, when 
Shamus Beg and some half dozen of his fellows who had been 
sent on a commission some miles northward, arrived in company 
with just another such party, arrayed in the costume of Monroe’s 
soldiers, and accompanied by a trumpeter. A shout of execra- 
tion burst from the clansmen at the sight, whereat Shamus 
waxed wroth. 

“ Can’t you have manners, now, you great ghomerils,” said he, 
“ and let the men alone, when it’s only doing an errand they 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


171 


are 1 Don’t you see the decent boy with the trumpet here wait- 
ing to have a parley with the general 1” 

“ With me,” said Owen Roe riding up at the moment.' 

“ With you and no other, may it please your generalship. Do 
you think we’d have brought them safe here if it wasn’t for 
that 1 Speak up now, Sassums !” turning to them with a ludic- 
rous air of authority. Here’s the O'Neill now. Humph ! I 
mean General O’Neill. Speak up and don’t be afraid. Devils 
an’ all as you are, you’ll go back with whole bones this time.” 

“ Don’t promise too much now, Shamus aroon,” said a stal- 
wart O’Neill from the cavalry ranks ; “ they never show us 
mercy, when they have us in their power.” 

“ I know that as well as you,” said Shamus, “ maybe I don’t, 
to my heavy, heavy sorrow, but that’s neither here nor there — I 
gave them my word I’d see them safe over the county march 
again, and the first man that says ‘ boo’ to them must have a 
bout with me. Do you mind, now, Rody T* 

Rody, notwithstanding his bluster, did mind, for the weight 
of Shamus’s fists was sufficiently well known to make the threat 
effective. The good-humored laughter which greeted Shamus’s 
assumption of authority gave that privileged person no offence, 
for his sense of dignity was too deep-seated to be easily dis- 
turbed. 

Meanwhile the trumpeter had advanced at the general’s invi- 
tation, and staring the latter full in the face, he said without any 
the slightest military salute : 

“ Be you the man whom the rebels call General O’Neill I” 

It was fortunate for the presumptuous speaker that none but 
the general fully understood what he said. 

“ I am the man so called,” O’Neill replied drily, but without 
any show of resentment ; “ what is your business with me, good 
fellow 1” 

\ “I have got a bit paper here somewhere,” said the ill-man- 
nered Puritan, fumbling awkwardly in a pouch fastened inside 
the breast of his doublet, whence he at length drew forth a letter 
which he handed to the general, saying, “ cur new general sends 
you that, and wante an answer by return !” 

And who may your new general be 


172 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ I opine you’ll see it in the letter,” said the fellow curtly^ 
having evidently no relish for discoursing with Popish recusants. 

Smiling at the boorishness, so ’ characteristic of all the man’s 
tribe, O'Neill turned aside to read the letter, after warning his 
men to take no notice of the strangers. 

Breaking the seal with no small curiosity, Owen Koe glanced 
at the signature, and perceived that his strange and unexpected 
correspondent was no other than Lord Leven, whose arrival at 
Carrickfergus with reinforcements for Monroe was already noised 
abroad throughout the country. “It is rather odd,” thought 
O’Neill, “ that he should take to writing letters to me of all men 
— let us see what he has to say.” 

. Any one watching his countenance would have seen that the 
contents of the letter amused him mightily, for ever as he read 
the smile on his lip became more humorous and his eyes twinkled 
with a merrier light. 

“ Well,” said Shamus Beg to one of his comrades, “ I’d give a 
trifle to know what’s written down there that it makes the gene- 
ral look so droll. An’ it was Sir Phelim, now, I’d have a chance 
of hearing the secret before long, but, ochone ! sure this man 
keeps his mind to himself so close that no one’s the wiser for 
what he thinks or what he knows. Sure enough he’s a wise 
man !” 

“ Shamus !” said the general, “ I leave these men in your 
charge while I prepare an answer for the letter they have brought 
me. See that no accident befal them 1” 

“ Oh ! the sorrow an accident, general, will befal them^' said 
the foster-brother of Sir Phelim ; “ they’re under my protection 
already, but your bidding goes beyond that again.” 

The cavalry were then dismissed for that day, but still most 
of them lounged behind, anxious to see the Sassicm dergs started 
again before they left the ground. 

O’Neill, alone in his chamber, read Lord Leven’s letter again, 
and again the arch smile curled his thin lip. “ He wonders, for- 
sooth,” said he half aloud, “ that a man of my rank and reputa- 
tion should come to Ireland to support so bad a cause, and very 
civilly intimates that I would do well to return whence I came. 
Truly the man hath an over great opinion of his powers of per- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


173 


suasion when he taketh it upon him to offer me advice. Plague 
on him for a Puritanical coxcomb, what a fool he must e’en take 
me for. Methinks I were hard run for counsel when I would 
seek it or take it of mine enemy. A plausible knave he is> 
moreover, with his fair, soft speech — well, I will answer him in 
such wise that he will never volunteer advice to me again.” 

And thereupon Owen Roe took up his pen and indited such an 
epistle to Lord Leven as must have given him a distaste for ad- 
vising Irish chieftains generally, and the toparch of Tyrone in 
particular. 

Amongst other cutting remarks there committed to paper, 
Owen Roe told the new Scotch general very plainly that he 
thought he had a better right to defend his own country than 
his lordship had to march into England against his lawful sover- 
eign.* This Leven had done, as O’Neill well knew. 

The answer written and dispatched was duly delivered in 
Carrickfergus, Shamus himself seeing the Scotchmen, as he had 
promised, to the county march. His task, nevertheless, was not 
so easy as he had expected, for while still on the Tyrone side of 
the border he fell in with a party of Rapparees who had been out 
on a foraging expedition. Who should be leader of the band 
but Angus Dhu, and the young man was riding up with his 
usual cordiality to greet Shamus, when his eye falling on the 
sergeant in command of the Puritans, he turned ghastly pale, and 
putting his right hand across his eyes he said, or rather 
shrieked ; 

“Mother of God, Shamus, know you with whom you are 
keeping company “I ” 

“ That do I all too well,” said O’Hagan, “ but they brought a 
letter from Garrick to the general— I met them on the way by 
chance and conducted them to Charlemont, and now they have 
the general’s answer back with them, and he gave them in 
charge to me, Angus, to see them safe over the border.” 

“ Shamus O’Hagan,” said the young Rapparee withdrawing 
his hand from his face but still averting his eyes from the 
hated Sassums, “ Shamus, friend of my heart, hast thou for- 


* Ricucc’ni’s Memoirs. 


174 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


gotten that awful night when, from amid smoke, and fire, and 
death, thou didst bear thy beloved with the swiftness of the wind 
in the vain search for safety T’ 

“ I remember it well,” said Shamus, lowering his eyes before 
the fiery orbs that were fiashing upon him. 

“ Hast forgotten the hell-hounds who pursued thee in that 
^ fearful chase seeking to tear the defenceless one from thee — hast 
forgotten Lindsay /” 

“ Forgotten Lindsay! no, never while life beats in my heart!” 

“ There’he stands, then,” and the young man pointed to the 
dark-visaged sergeant who, although not understanding a 
word of what was said, could not avoid hearing his own name 
and the tremendous emphasis laid upon it. Conscience filled up 
the blank, and the livid countenance of the wretch betrayed at 
once his consciousness and his fears. Instinctively he drew 
back among his comrades as Shamus, turning, fixed his eyes 
scarchingly upon him. 

“Queen of Heaven! but I believe you’re right, Angus — it is 
Lindsay himself, and no other. Ah ! you curse of God villain 
you drove me into the salt sea that night with the pulse of my/ 
heart that you’d fain have taken from me.” 

“ Ha ! it was your ain sel that leaped yon gulf, then,” cried 
the Scotchman all aghast, and forgetting his fears for the mo- 
ment, he darted forward and grasping O’Hagan’s arm looked 
him in the face, “ I thought you jist drowned yoursel with that 
bonnie lassie — you’d pleasure me much an’ you’d tell me how 
you got awa’ frae ahint yon awsome black rocks.” 

“ The d — ^1 give you knowledge, you ill-conditioned vagabond,” 
was Shamus’s answer, accompanied by a thrust with the butt end 
of his musket that made the Scotchman reel in his saddle — “ an’ 
you open your bps again, I’ll — I’ll— but, ochone, sure I can’t— I 
can’t — my hands are tied, more’s the pity.” 

“ Shamus,” said the young Rapparee in a very decided way, 
“ that man is our prisoner — the captain has us all on our oath, 
as you well know, never to let one of Monroe’s hell-hounds es- 
cape us— wherever we meet them, by day or by night, we’re 
either to cut them down or bring them alive to him. Now, I 
know he’d like to settle accounts himself with this murdering 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


175 


villain. I claim him, then, in Donogh’s name — the others I kntjw 
not — if they were at work that night I saw them not — they may 
go, therefore, but Lindsay we must and will have !” 

“ It must not be, Angus,” said O’Hagan resolutely, and he 
moved in front of the obnoxious Scotchman who was now again 
trembling like an aspen. “ I owe him no more good will than 
yoilTself, but he is in my charge, and came here on my word — I 
tell you, boy ! the man that lays hand on him is my enemy, 
were he the son of my own mother ! Back ! every man of you !” 
for the fierce-looking Rapparees were closing in around, obe- 
dient to a sign from Angus. “ Back ! or dread the vengeance 
of Tyr-Owen!” 

“ Shamus O’Hagan !” said the old man, Florry Muldoon, as 
he brandished his formidable pike nearer the Scotchmen than 
any of them liked ; “ Shamus ! ma bouchal ! it’s a folly to talk 
that way — you ought to know by this time that we of the woods 
fear no living man — if Angus here says that black neb must be 
taken to the Brantree, taken he’ll be, depend upon it, so get out 
of the way or you may be sorry, were you Phelimy Roe himself, 
instead of his foster-brother.” 

“ Florry, I don’t want to fight with you,” said Shamus, “ that 
and hang myself is the last thing I’d do, but I tell you again 1 
must leave these villains safe over the march; after that the old 
de’il may take them for me, and sure he has the best right 
to them !” 

Now the Rapparees far outnumbered Shamus’s party and the 
Scotchmen put together, and Shamus well knew the reckless 
bravery which made them the terror of their foes. He knew 
that if it came to close quarters he and his were pretty sure to 
have the worst of it, but even that would not deter him from 
doing his duty. It was the sight of Angus whom he loved with 
more than a brother’s love, and the thought that he might per 
chance faU in the scuffle — that was what troubled poor Shamus 
and made his heart sink within him. Angus on his part was 
just as unwilling to meet Shamus in mortal strife, but come 
what will he was resolved to take Lindsay dead or alive. His 
followers waited but the word to fall on, and their eager eyes 
watched every turn of his expressive countenance while their 


176 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

fingers clutched their pikes with a restless itching for the 
onslaught. 

“ Boys,” said the fiery young leader at length, “ I see there’s 
no help for it — if Shamus will go between us and our revenge, 
his blood be on his head — if they give us that man quietly” — 
pointing to the miserable Lindsay where he cowered in^his 
saddle behind his reluctant protector — “ well and good — the rest 
of the black nebs may go in peace for us— but him we must 
have ! Shamus! will you, or will you not, give him up 1” 

“ I couldn’t do it, Angus, and you ought to know that — for 
the love of God — let us pass on, and wait you some other oppor- 
tunity — you’ll have it, and revenge will keep till then — oh, don’t 
— don’t, Angus, or we must fire ” 

“ Stand aside, Shamus O’Hagan, or — ” and the young man 
grasping his pike half way down the handle, prepared to aim a 
deadly thrust at Lindsay. 

“ Leave it to your captain, Angus I” cried Shamus, driven lo 
the last extremity ; “ I’ll appeal to him, for he promised to do 
the general’s bidding 1” 

“ You’re a greater fool than I took you for, Shamus Beg I” 
said Angus ; “ how will the Captain decide the matter when he’s 
not within miles of us ” 

“The captain is here,” said a deep voice from behind a 
bushy hawthorn which there overhung the road ; “ Shamus’s 
word and the general’s will must be respected — let them go for 
this time, and quickly, so that I see not the accursed face of 
Lindsay — an’ I did, I must do a deed which belongeth to a fu- 
ture hour — pass on, Shamus, and remember it is for your sake 
and Owen Roe’s that I do what by right I should not do — pass 
on!” 

“ God’s blessing and mine be with you, Donogh,” said Shamus 
with deep feeling ; “ we were friends before, we’ll be brothers 
now !” 

“ And I, Shamus,” said Angus as he drew his party to one 
side, to let the others pass ; “ will you ever forgive me ?” 

“ I forgive you now, Angus, my fine fellow”— and Shamus as 
he passed him shook his hand lustily — “ you were right in your 
own way — so was I — let us be none the wmrse friends for what 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


177 


has happened. Get along here before me, you devil’s limb !” ad- 
dressing the sergeant who was far from being as yet re-assured, 

“ your carcass is not worth fighting for, God knows, but no mat- 
ter — ride on, I tell you !” 

The Scotchmen were only too happy to obey, and as the 
whole party rode off at a brisk canter, Donogh leaped the low 
fence and, looking cautiously around, gave a short whistle, where-) 
upon two of his men appeared at an opening in the hedge a few 
yards distant, bearing between them a sort of rustic litter on 
which sat the aged widow of O’Cahan, followed closely by her 
daughter on foot with two more of the Rapparees, the latter 
keeping some paces behind through respect for the lady. The 
whole cavalcade set out at once on the road to Charlemont, es- 
corted now by the party under Angus, to whom Donogh had 
whispered some directions. 

It so happened that they had proceeded but a little way when 
Sir Phelim O’Neill was seen approaching by a bridle road fol- 
lowed by some six or eight of his own retainers. 

“ What ho ! who goes there T’ cried the knight as he pushed 
his horse to a gallop to meet the party ; “ why, the Rapparees, as 
I hope to be saved — and well mounted, too! But the captain 
on foot — ^how is that, good fellow T’ 

Just at this moment he caught sight of the ladies, and a 
change came over his bold visage. 

“ Ha I by the sword of Nial, this is a sight !— I wish you joy, 
madam, of your elevated seat,” bowing with mock respect to 
the mother, while to the daughter he said, “ strolling tinkers, or 
what 1— mayhap gypsies T’ and he burst into a loud laugh 
that was more forced than natural. 

Judith answered only by a scornful look, but Donogh advanc- 
ing to her side, took upon him to reply — “ Sir Phelim O’Neill, I’d 
have you to know that these ladies are under our protection— ho 
who does them ill, ay ! or says them ill, is no friend of ours.” . 

“And who the fiend cares for that'l” said Sir Phelim con- 
temptuously ; “ oh, I beg pardon,” correcting himself, as it were, 
“ I forgot Owen Roe, your great friend and patron. But, an- 
swer me this, young man : whither do you take those Rapparee 
ladies in such state I Have they tired of forest life 


178 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Befo*e Donogh could answer, Judith herself replied: “We 
are on our way to Charlemont, and are not tired of forest life, 
thanks to the generous care of these brave fellows.” 

“ Why leave them, then, in God’s name, since you like so well 
their entertainment 

“ Because, Sir Phelim,” replied Donogh, “ there are rumors 
abroad that the Puritan generals do purpose making an attack 
on the Bran tree, and although for ourselves we fear them not, 
we must place these ladies beyond their reach, for fear of the 
worst !” 

“ Ay, for fear of the worst,” muttered the aged lady, looking 
down with a moistened eye on the wild-looking fellows who formed 
her guard ; “ it were an evil hour for us when the enemy prevailed 
over our faithful Rapparees — poor fellows! they and we are 
alike — hunted from post to pillar, without roof to cover us, or 
means of support, other than charity gives us — or force can 
take 1” she added with her dreary smile. 

“ And you go to Charlemont to take shelter under the wing 
of Owen Roel” said Sir Phelim, endeavoring to conceal the 
emotion which he really felt under an appearance of spiteful 
levity. 

“ Even so, Sir Phelim,” said Judith again, “ he hath promised 
us protection — he hath power to make his word good — he hath 
strong walls around him, and there is room enow within them 
for the widow and daughter of O’Cahan. I pray you let us pass 
without further discourse.” 

' “ Judith O’Cahan,” said Sir Phelim, now thoroughly in ear- 
nest and lowering his voice, for he had contrived to get near 
her, “ Judith O’Cahan, there is no need for this humbling your- 
self, an’ you have one grain of prudence. There is a safe and 
honorable asylum still open for you and your mother, as you 
well know I” 

“ Name it not. Sir Phelim,” exclaimed the lady, her pale 
cheek reddening with indignation ; “ I have told you my mind 
on that head — it hath undergone no change 1” 

“ Fool ! fool !” muttered the knight with a sudden movement 
of anger, which, however, glancing around, he saw fit to repress. 

“ Take my horse, then. Mistress Judith,” he said, making a mo- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


179 


tion as if oO alight, then added in a jocular way in English, and in 
an under tone, “ since you will not take myself — I beseech you 
lady, be not obstinate — so long a journey on foot ill beseemeth 
your sex and quality ” 

“ Urge me no farther. Sir Phelim,” said Judith still more 
decided than before ; “I may not pleasure myself with aught 
that is yours.” 

“ And wherefore, thou flinty charmer*?” 

“ Ask thine own heart — the blood of Coey-na-gall* runs in 
my veins, and my memory is good, oh ! son of the Hy-Nial ! ’* 

“ But my mother will be glad to receive you and, yours,” per- 
sisted Sir Phelim ; “ you know she liveth apart from me with 
her son, Hovenden — surely with her you will be safe — even 
from me /” and he smiled. 

“ I know not that,” said Judith shaking her head doubtfully, 
“ but even were it as thou sayest, Charlemont is our present 
destination, for there we are sure of safety !” 

“ Have I not admission there *?” asked Phelim with bitter 
emphasis — “ I who took it from the enemy when Owen Roe was 
tilting it in Arras beyond *?” 

“ I say not but you have,” said the lady calmly, “ but once 
there I fear you not — move on, men, my mother is a- weary and 
needeth rest !” 

There was so stern a dignity in Judith’s demeanor as she 
spoke these words that Sir. Phelim himself dare not resist, and 
Donogh was not slow in giving the necessary order to his men 
when once the imperious knight manifested no further op- 
position. 

With a gruff salute from Sir Phelim, cmirteously returned by 
Judith and her mother, the parties separated, enid half an hour 
more saw the homeless pair safely housed in Charlemont Castle, 
where apartments were allotted them by Owen Roe. Few words 
of welcome escaped his lips as he received them, but few as they 
w'ere they satisfied the mother and daughter. 

* Coen-na-gall (the Scourge of the Stranger) was a famous ohioPtain 
of the O’Cahans in earlier times ; he was celebrated, as his name im« 
plies, for his successful resistance to foreign tyranny. 


IBO 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ Bat slaves, that once conceive the glowing thought 
Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 
All that the contest calls for ; — spirit, strength, 

The scorn of danger, and united hearts, 

The surest presage of the good they seek.” 

Cowper’s Tash 

“ Who, all unbribed, on Freedom’s ramparts stand, 

Faithful and true, bright wardens of the land.” 

Charles Sprague. 

The middle days of October were past, and the ancient city of 
Kilkenny (to which we would now conduct our readers) was a 
scene of gay and joyous bustle. Hostelries were crowded with 
the military retainers of the great chiefs and nobles, while private 
houses of all classes were filled with guests, and the stately 
mansions of the rich and noble were honored with the sojourn of 
knights, and lords, and priests and prelates. Never in her palmiest 
days, not even when Lionel, Duke of Clarence, called the estates 
together there for consultation, had the old city seen a grander 
display, or a greater number of distinguished personages assem- 
bled within its walls. Men of noble stature and lofty bearing 
were there from the Irish country clad in the graceful costume 
of their race. Chiefs from the far hills of Ulster, and the moun- 
tains of Connaught, from the fertile plains of Leinster and the 
golden vein of Munster, were there with their followers, and 
clansmen from the north and from the south, from the east and 
from the west — O’Reillys, and McMahons, and Maguires, and 
Magennises from the hills and vales of Ulster, were seen in fami- 
liar converse with McCarthys, and O’Connors, and O’Rourkes^ 
and twenty other O’s and Macs from the other Celtic districts. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


181 


while, distinct alike in language and in dress, the retainers of 
the Norman nobles and gentlemen walked apart, discoursing 
after their own fashion, rarely or never mingling with the Irish 
of the same class. Not so, however, with their masters ; for 
them the distinction between the old and-new blood seemed no 
longer to exist — most of them spoke both Irish and English, 
which was not the case with their followers, and many subjects of 
interest were common to both as warrior knights and nobles. 
Grouped together might be seen a tall, robust, Celtic chief in 
truis, cochcd, and harradh, with long flowing locks (the well- 
prized coolin'), a Norman noble from the Pale in dark-colored tunic 
and knee-breeches with a long cloak of the same sober hue fas- 
tened close around his neck, his strongly-marked features 
shaded by a broad-leaved, low-crowned hat, his slighter form 
and generally shorter stature contrasting rather unfavorably 
with the muscular proportions of his Celtic neighbor. With 
these perchance was a marshal-looking gentleman whose foreign 
aspect and sun- browned features, and French or Spanish cos- 
tume would seem to point him out as of different origin from 
either of the others. His speech, too, was marked by a foreign 
accent, although he spoke both English and Irish, the latter 
better and more fluently than the former. About these strangers 
the chief interest seemed to gather, and their “ tales of distant 
lands” were greedily swallowed alike by Gael and Norman, few 
of whom had ever crossed any of Ireland’s four seas. Ecclesias- 
tics of various grades were mingled with the groups, clad in 
cloak and cassock, and, stranger still, monks and friars were 
there in the habits of their several orders, the white robe of the 
Dominican, and the brown habit of the Franciscan, and the gray 
gown of the Augustinian contrasting chastely with the gay and 
many-colored garments of the Celtic chiefs. Such sights as 
this were for ages unseen in the good city of Kilkenny, and the 
people were almost wild with joy, and full of the hope that the 
dark evil day was passed away for ever, and that their clergy were 
thenceforward to walk as other men in open day and in 
their proper garments, not as thieves under cover of the night 
and in all manner of strange disguises. From end to end the 
old city was in commotion, Irishtown and Englishtown all 


182 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the same ; the very boats on the river seemed suddenly instinct 
with life, so gaily and so cheerily, and with so much bustle did 
they keep shooting hither and thither, along the Nore and up 
the Bregah,* hither and thither, to and fro, so that a looker-on 
would wonder what they were all about, or what maggot had 
got into their crazy timbers. Colors were floating, too, from 
every tiny mast, the gay white and green of the Confederates, 
arid the same colors met the eye in all directions waving in 
plumes over noble brows, in drapery suspended from the upper 
windows of houses, and in flags flaunting in the autumn breeze 
on the highest elevations in and around the city. It was only 
on the Castle, Ormond’s Castle, that tho royal flag of England 
floated in solitary state. At the opposite extremity of the city, 
on the rival hill, the national colors waved defiance from the 
flag-staff of old St. Canice, and the bells of that stately pile 
chimed forth at times a right merry peal for joy that religion 
was again paramount in the good old city of the Butlers. 

And wherefore all this joy and all this bustle I why was the 
city in its gala dress, and the citizens all in a state of pleasurable 
excitement 1 why, because the grand Assembly of the Confeder- 
ates was to take place there within the week, and all was in a 
state of preparation for the greatest event that had occurred in 
Ireland, perhaps since the days of Brian Boromhe. 

It was joy to hear the names that were on the people’s lips as 
they cheerily chatted on the streets and in the houses, in the 
workshops and the hostelries, and wherever men came together for 
business or amusement. The 'house chosen for the meeting of 
what might truly be called the National Assembly was situate 
in what is still called the Coal Market, a portion of the long line 
of street which under one name or another intersects the entire 
length of the city from the Cathedral to the Castle. The build- 
ing was an ancient one and no wise imposing in its character, 
although it was the residence of Sir Robert Shea, who appears 

The Bregah, a small tributary of the Nore, separates tho new 
and old parts of the city commonly known as Englishtown and 
Irishtown. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


183 


to have lent or given it for the purpose.* It contained on the 
first floor a spacious hall, the farther end of which was slightly 
raised above the rest, and that was apportioned to the lords lay 
and spiritual, who had also a small room overhead for their pri- 
vate consultation. The remainder of the hall was for the use of 
the Commoners. The whole was lit by rows of high, narrow, 
arched windows, and its general character was rather gloomy, 
all the better adapted, perhaps, for purposes of deliberation. It 
had a reverend look, that qld hall, and although without any 
pretensions to grandeur or state, when fitted up on that memor- 
able occasion and decorated with national devices in the florid 
style of that age, it presented no mean appearance. 

For many days previous to the opening of the Assembly, the 
citizens of all classes were watching the arrivals with all-absorb- 
ing interest. The name and title of each was duly noted, 
together with the style and quality of his apparel, the number 
and equipment of his followers, with the Comparative rank and 
wealth of all shrewdly guessed at from these appendages.. By 
the Norman craftsmen and burgesses of the Englishtown of Kil- 
kenny, the lords and gentlemen of the Pale were rated far above 
even the highest chieftains of Gaelic blood, the great toparchs of 
the north and south. Of these. Lord Muskerry, the MacCarthy 
of former days, stood the highest in the esteem of the towns- 
people from the fact of his being the brother-in-law of Lord Or- 
mond, while Mountgarret on the other hand, notwithstanding his 
being a Butler, lost considerably in their estimation, because he 
had had the great Earl of Tyrone for his father-in-law Not all 
the glory of the Butlers could efiace, in the minds of those su- 
percilious Normans, the deep disgrace of being allied to an Irish 
family. 

Exactly the reverse was the case beyond the Bregah where, in 
the narrow streets, and lanes and alleys of Irishtown, dwelt 
those of the old blood, whose hatred and contempt for the 
stranger and “ the upstart” were as great as his for them. In 
that section of the town, it was Owen Roe and Sir Phelim 

* For a further account of this venerable edifice and its present 
condition, see Hall’s Ireland^ Vol. II., p. 15. 


184 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


O’Neill, O’Reilly, McMahon, McGennis, O’Connor, O’Sullivan and 
all such, whose arrival was most carefully noted, and all that 
appertained to them and their followers discussed and comment- 
ed on with affectionate pride. The fame of Owen Roe had pene- 
trated even there and all were anxious to have a look at “ the 
chieftain of the Red Hand,” the hero of so many battles, and 
the successor, it was hoped, of the great Hugh who had all but 
effected the liberation of Ireland. 

With the clergy of all classes Owen O’Neill seemed just as 
popular as with the people of the old blood. There were, how- 
ever, a few exceptions, and amongst these was conspicuous, how- 
ever it happened. Bishop McMahon of Clogher with a certain 
Franciscan friar more distinguished for worldly wisdom than for 
any virtue commended in the Gospel. The latter individual, 
Father Peter Walsh by name, manifested from the first a singu- 
lar coldness towards O’Neill, though why or wherefore few but 
himself could tell. 

The days preceding the opening of the Assembly passed 
quickly and pleasantly with most of the Confederates in friendly 
consultation, in visits to the numerous antiquities and places of 
historic note so profusely scattered through the dingy lanes and 
alleys of the old city, and most pleasing of all, in the renewal of 
old acquaintance and the making of new, between men drawn 
together for a common object and bound together for weal or 
for woe by a solemn oath. Those who had grown up side by 
side in the dear old land and parted as boys to seek abroad that 
instruction which the laws denied them at home, met again in 
Kilkenny, one perhaps a soldier of fortune, the other a dis- 
tinguished ecclesiastic. Officers were there not a few who had 
risen together step by step in the service of some foreign prince, 
and others who had drawn the sword on opposite sides in the 
wars which then convulsed the continent. In Kilkenny all that 
‘ was forgotten ; all were there as Irishmen, to give the mother 
country and her sacred cause the benefit of their dear-bought 
experience, and to place at her service the swords that had 
carved out fame and mayhap fortune in more favored lands. 
Priests, too, were there who had pored over the same ponder- 
ous volumes in early boyhood in the classic halls of St. Omers, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


185 


Salamanca or Louvain, but who, parting midway in their course, 
went to enrich far distant lands with the sacred lore and the 
priestly virtues drawn from those venerable founts. But wherever 
their lot was cast, whatsoever their position or the nature of 
their calling in foreign climes, the news of the great revolution 
going on in Ireland had stirred the pulses of their hearts, and 
the light of freedom blazing on the hill-tops of the Green Island 
had reached alike the soldier in his tent, the priest in his sanc- 
tuary, and the monk in his cloister. All Europe resounded with 
accounts more or less exaggerated of what was going forward in 
the Holy Island of the West, and the news of the great national 
assembly to be held in October drew the sons of Ireland and 
their sons home from every point of the compass. 

From the black marble steps by which the front of St. Canice 
is reached a gallery runs along one side of the building, com- 
manding a fair view of the city, and the river, and the noble 
castle of the Butlers, making altogether a picture of rare 
scenic beauty. On the evening immediately preceding the 
solemn opening of the Council, or (more properly speaking_) 
Parliament, four notable persons stood together in earnest con- 
versation on matters appertaining to the great business in hand. 

One of these was no less a person than Malachy O’Kelly, Arch- 
bishop of Tuam, the same zealous and patriotic prelate who, a 
few weeks before, had denounced the powerful de Biirgo in the 
midst of his armed retainers. Near him stood a Franciscan 
friar, whose somew^hat unmeaning countenance had a look of 
dogged determination that might be set dowm as obstinacy, with 
more than a little cunning. Altogether the man w^as far from 
pleasing in his exterior, presenting in face and form a marked 
contrast to the portly and frank-looking Archbishop, with his 
quick, earnest glance and animated countenance. 

One of the others was Owen Roe O’Neill, in his Celtic costume, 
looking as calm and cool as though nothing of moment were 
under discussion — hearing much but saying little — and watching 
through his half-closed eyes the faces of those around him. Near 
him, leaning carelessly against the buttress of the old Cathedral, 
stood a gentleman of soldierly bearing, whose fine oval coun- 
tenance lost somewhat of its easy, good natured expression by 


186 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


reason of the large whiskers and moustache, which, although no 
improvement in point of beauty, gave a more martial character 
to the wearer. His stout and rather square-built figure was 
handsomely attired in the uniform of a French officer of that 
day, slashed doublet and truncated hose, with a cocked hat and- 
a plume of snow white feathers. This was Thomas Preston, a 
brother of the late Lord Gormanstown, who had been many years 
serving in the French army to the great advancement of his name 
and fame, if not fortune. Like O’Neill he had gathered together 
a large number of Irish officers, his brothers-in-arms during his 
career in France, and through the munificence of the great 
Richelieu, then holding the helm of state in that country, ^ 
he had sailed for 'his native country with two ships of war, 
bearing a good supply of arms and ammunition for the use of 
the Confederate Catholics. About the middle of the preceding 
month of September, Thomas Preston had given the good peo- 
ple of Wexford a glad surprise when he sailed into their harbor 
one fine day with his French ships and his goodly company of 
Irish officers and the colors of the Confederates hoisted so briskly 
the moment the vessels neared the shore. That cheering 
event had been the subject of conversation, and Preston, after 
enlarging on the favorable dispositions of the great Cardinal, as 
evinced by this first magnificent contribution, turned to O’Neill - 
with a smile of affected candor : 

“I would that his Catholic Majesty had been so liberal. 
Methinks it was a paltry trick he played you, after so many fine 
promises, to send you home with one poor brig — out upon so 
great a sovereign so to reward so valiant a servant, were higher 
motive wanting for his generosity !” 

“ There spoke the French prejudice,” said O’Neill calmly ; 

“ you little know the royal Philip, an’ you deem that ‘ one poor 
brig’ the sum total of hisv bounty to us. Fair and soft, you 
know. Master Preston, go far in a day, and my royal master is 
by nature cautious and circumspective.” 

“ And his servant is like unto him,” muttered Preston in a 
half audible tone, as turning away he affected to admire the 
prospect before him, albeit that nature’s charms had few or no 
attractions at any time for him wanting the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


187 


files arrayed with helm and blade 

And plumes in the gay wind dancing,” 

which alone have beauty for the soldier’s eye. Preston had a 
soldier’s heart and a soldier’s spirit, for most of his life had been 
a soldier’s life, and his joys and pleasures were all of a martial 
character. 

O’Neill eyed him a moment from the elevation of his superior 
height, and it seemed as though a biting retort rose to bis lips, 
but it came not forth, for seldom indeed was it that passion be- 
trayed him, and he was determined that no petulance of his 
should throw a shade on the brightness of the path, where he 
trusted that Preston and he should walk hand in hand to victory. 

The Archbishop’s keen eye had been observing both, and, 
laying his hand on O’Neill’s shoulder, he said in Irish : 

“ Honor and glory to him who overcometh self.” 

Now it so happened that Preston had no knowledge whatever 
of the native tongue, but, seeing the glow of satisfaction on 
O’Neill’s cheek, he was at no loss to comprehend the meaning of 
what was said, and his hasty temper took fire at what he consi- 
dered the slight put upon him. , 

“ I need hardly inform you,” said he, “ my Lord Archbishop, 
that your language is a stranger to my tongue — as lam, I per-- 
ceive, to your counsels. My presence is a burthen that must 
needs be removed. Give your Grace good evening !” 

He was turning away when the Archbishop, with a significant 
glance at O’Neill, tendered his apology for speaking in Irish, as- 
suring Master Preston that he never dreamed of his being unac- 
quainted with that tongue. 

“ It is passing strange an’ he be,” said the Franciscan, speak- 
ing for the first time ; “ why, my Lord of Ormond doth affect that 
tongue and speaketh it as a true Milesian lord. Even my lady 
the Countess hath a full knowledge of it. and I know not but 
their children all speak it.” 

The prelate smiled, and his smile was full of arch meaning, 
while O’Neill fixed a wondering glance on the heavy features of 
the friar. 

“ I would it were otherwise. Father Peter Walsli,” said the 


188 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Archbishop; “if Master Preston had more knowledge of our 
tongue, and what concerneth us, and Lord Ormond less, it were 
all the better for us.” 

He is a dangerous enemy, that same Ormond,” said Preston 
abruptly, “ more so, as I take it, than Inchiquin or Broghill, 
seeing that he carrieth a double face, whereas the others show 
themselves such as they are.” 

“ Your opinion is mine,” Master Preston, said the prelate 
warmly, “ and I rejoice to find you so much alive to that lord’s 
duplicity. You will be the better able to cope with him — he is 
the serpent in the grass, take my word for it !” 

“ My lord ! my lord !” said the Franciscan, roused to sudden 
energy by this stricture on the man whom he strangely enough 
had chosen for a patron, “ my Lord Archbishop, it grieveth me 
to hear you speak in such wise of the only powerful friend we 
have amongst the Protestants ! Surely, it is ungrateful. Surely, 
surely it is. Now, General O’Neill, you and Master Preston 
being in a manner strangers in this land, are, as it were, in the 
dark concerning many things that ye ought to know. As a 
priest of the Catholic Church I solemnly assure you that were 
this unhappy disturbance left to my Lord of Ormond and my 
Lord of Clanrickarde, they would make all things smooth and 
pleasant for us, ay, marry ! and we should soon have all we 
want — but, woe is me ! woe is me ! their pacific counsels are un- 
heeded, their warning voices unheard, and rash men are hurry- 
ing the nation into the vortex of rebellion, unknowing how to 
draw it forth again or quell the storm themselves have raised !” 

“ Father Peter Walsh,” said the Archbishop sternly, “ your 
infatuation with regard to Lord Ormond becometh intolerable, 
and hath even now carried you beyond the bounds of Christian 
decency. I hereby pronounce what you have said untrue in 
every particular, and do solemnly assever that the two men you 
have named are the direst enemies of our sacred cause.” 

“ What! Clanrickarde as bad as the renegade Ormond P’ said 
O’Neill in surprise ; “ hath your Grace then no hope of his final 
co-operation P’ 

“No more than I have of Ormond’s — he hath made unto him- 
self an idol, the which is Charles of England, and whosoever 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


189 


boweth not with him before that shrine is a rebel and a traitor 
in his esteem, be his standing in God’s Church what it may — 
nay, Father Walsh, I charge you say no more— before God, I 
am sick of your twaddle ” 

“ And I take God to witness,” said the pertinacious friar, “ that 
your Grace and all who hold your opinions do these honorable 
lords foul injustice in that !” 

“ You are either a fool or a knave, Peter Walsh,” said a dark- 
visaged man who just then joined the party. 

“ A Franciscan could expect no better from one of your or- 
der,” replied Walsh with a disdainful glance at the black robe 
of the Jesuit, for such the other was. “ What do you know of 
this matter 1” 

“ As much as you — or it may be more,” said the son of Igna- 
tius pointedly ; “ that which I know I say, and I tell you, in 
the presence of his Grace of Tuam and these gallant gentlemen, 
what I would tell Ulick Burke were he within reach of my voice, 
to wit, that his heart is as hard against us as Murrough O’Brien’s, 
and the enemies of our faith have no more zealous supporter than 
he. Would to Heaven he would cease to profane the name of 
Catholic whereto he hath no other title than an empty sound ” 

“Ha! I know you now!” cried Walsh; “ methought your face 
was familiar — you are——” 

“ It matters little who I am,” saia the Jesuit waving his hand 
authoritatively ; “/ know you, too, Peter Walsh, and so, I trust, 
do most of the Confederates.” 

A messenger here arrived from the Bishop requesting his 
Grace of Tuam, General O’Neill, and Colonel Preston to repair 
immediately to his house where their presence was urgently 
needed. 


190 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XVr. 

“ Were his eyes open ? Yes, and his mouth, too ; — 

Surprise has this effect, to make one dumb, 

Yet leave the gate, which eloqueuce slips through, 

As wide as if a long speech were to come.” 

Byron. 

“lie who would free from malice pass his days 
Must live obscure, and never merit praise.” 

Gay’s Epistles. 

On reaching the Bishop’s house’*’ our party found a number 
of the Confederate chiefs assembled, and all eagerly engaged dis- 
cussing some event apparently of great importance. In a large 
arm-chair, near one of the high, narrow windows, sat the aged 
Bishop of the diocese, an old, old man with a worn and wasted 
countenance, and a form bowed down beneath the double 
weight of age and sorrow, for the episcopal office was an entail 
of misery in the dark days on which David Rothe’s episcopate 
had fallen. There was energy and spirit, nevertheless, in the 
fine old eyes which had once been bright, and there w’as firm 
determination about the sunken mouth and the thin colorless lips. 
By the side of the Bishop stood a tall, dignified personage with 
a strongly marked Norman countenance and that unmistakeable 
something in his air and bearing which indicates rank and high 
position. Something there was about the gentleman’s appearance 
which reminded one of poor Maguire as we first saw him, although 
he who now stands before us is older evidently by several years. 
There is a firmness, too, and a certain military boldness about 
the face and figure which never characterized the chieftain of 
Fermanagh, and which give you the impression of a self-relying, 

* The family mansion of the Rothes is situate in the Coal market, 
exactly opposite the house in which the Confederates met. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


191 


indopemdent spirit, capable of high and daring enterprize. On 
the other side of the Bishop’s chair, and leaning familiarly on 
its arm, stood Bishop McMahon, while in front of him stood 
Lord Fingal, his thin sharp features cold and calm as though 
nothing could ever stir the heart within him. By his side stood 
Sir Phelim O’Neill, looking as fierce as if he meant to attack 
somebody on the instant. 

“ My Lord of Tuam,” said Bishop Rothe as soon as he caught 
sight of that dignitary, “we have good news for you — come 
hither ! General 0 Neill, and Colonel Preston, here is my lord of 
Castlehaven come to join us ’’ 

“ Nay, my lord,” said the tall gentleman by his side after ex- 
changing a courtly bow with the newly arrived prelate and the 
two officers, “ nay, my lord, I, as yet, hold myself free to pro- 
nounce on that matter — I would fain ” 

“ Keep the middle course,” put in Sir Phelim O’Neill , 

“ methiuks your lordship hath pursued it oyer long for all you 
have made of it. Had you come out boldly as we did at the 
start,” Castlehaven smiled, “ you would have laid us under obli- 
gations — your thanks from Ormond and the Justices being but 
small in any case — whereas now, albeit that we are glad to see 
you here, we know full well that you come because you cannot 
help it !” 

“ Truly it must be a hard necessity,” said the archbishop, 

“ that threw so loyal a nobleman as Lord Castlehaven into our 
rebellious ranks.” 

There was the slightest possible touch of irony in these words 
which the peer well understood, and with a heightened color he 
replied : “ I acknowledge it, my lord archbishop ! I am a loyal 
man, and desirous above all of upholding my sovereign’s authority 
in this realm.” 

“ So are we all,” said Archbishop O’Kelly promptly, “ so are 
we all loyal men — God forbid we were not — an’ the king’s 
majesty were only as loyal to us as we are to him, our differ- 
ences were but small.” 

“And yet, my reverend lord, there was no lack of haste in 
flying to arms !” 

“ Pardon me, Lord Castlehaven,” said Owen Roe, speaking ^ 


192 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


for the first time, and with his usual calmness of demeanor, 
“ pardon me in that I cannot think as you do concerning that 
matter. In my poor judgment, no nation under heaven hath 
shown so much endurance as this of ours in regard to those 
Stuart princes — before God this day I have thought many a time 
that patience amongst the poor oppressed Catholics of Ireland 
did overstep the bounds of virtue — had they kept the peace 
much longer, I had turned my back on them as a cowardly 
and pusillanimous race with no heart to help themselves, and 
therefore unworthy of help from God or man !’* 

Castlehaven made no answer, but he fixed his eyes on O’Neill’s 
face with a keen and searching look, as though anxious to see 
farther into a book so well covered. 

“ Be it as it may,” said Bishop McMahon in his quick way, 
“ we rejoice to see Lord Castlehaven here, and do bid him 

heartily welcome in the name of the Confederate Catholics ” 

“ Much cause have we to thank the worshipful Justices,” said 
the incorrigible knight of Kinnard ; “ had they given his honor- 
able lordship a better return for his loyal service we might e’en 
have whistled for him, and danced to our own music — ho ! ho ! 
ho ! a pretty reward truly ! — he spoke them fair and bowed 
himself in and out of their presence, and used many hard words 
doubtless in regard to us poor Popish recusants and rebels, and 
lo ! they send their minions and burn his houses and lay waste 
his lands — but kicking doth agree well with some dogs, and 
straightway my lord of Castlehaven, finding himself accused of 
treasonable practices (bless the mark !), hurries off post-haste to 
Dublin to justify himself in the sight of Parsons and Borlase — 
by my knighthood, Castlehaven ! they served you right to clap 

you in prison as a traitor* — you were a traitor ” 

“How, Sir Phelim! what meaneth this language!” said the 
Earl haughtily. 

“ I say again you were a traitor, my lord earl ! a traitor to 
your God and to your country ! They served you right, I tell 
you !” 

• For an account of Lord Castlehaven’a case, and the means where- 
by he was driven into rebellion, see his own Memoirs, pp. 20-30. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHJEFTAINS. 


193 


“ Sir Phelim ! Sir Phelim !” said Bishop Rothe, raising his 
finger by way of rebuke 

“ I crave your lordship’s pardon, an’ I speak too warmly,” 
said Sir Phelim; “it is a way we have amongst the hills of 
Tyr-Owen.” 

“ Such fashion of speech is not to my liking,” said Castlehaven 
coldly ; “ raethinks it is out of place on this occasion !” 

“ Surely it is, my lord,” said Owen Roe ; “ we are here to de- 
liberate for the common good, not to twit each other on things 
past. I pray you excuse my worthy kinsman in that he cracks 
his jokes so as to leave the edges oversharp !” 

“ I pray you let your kinsman speak for himself. Master 
Spaniard,” said Phelim shortly ; “ an’ he choose to tell his 
thoughts more freely than others it is no business of yours. I 
but meant to make known to my lord of Castlehaven and these 
other lords and gentlemen who are not of our blood, that we of the 
Irishry can see as far into the mill-stone as he that picks it. No 
offence, I hope, to the noble earl who, an’ .he is pleased to lend 
us a hand, may find Phelim O’Neill as true a friend us though 
his speech were framed in more courtly fashion !” 

The frown vanished quickly from the lordly brow of Castle- 
haven, and he said with a bland smile : “ I will frankly own, ray 
lords and gallant gentlemen, that the Justices have left no stone 
unturned to drive me to this step, the which I take it was their 
purpose throughout.” 

“ So it was with all of us, my lord,” observed Fingal ; “ we of 
the Pale were, as you well know, right loyally disposed, and 
did make advances towards the Lords Justices ” 

“ Advances !” repeated Sir Phelim in a contemptuous tone, 
while Owen Roe and the two prelates of Irish blood could not 
help smiling ; “ we all know what manner of advances they were, 
soliciting arms to use against us wild Irishry — the which were no 
great benefit to you when you got them ” 

“ Sir Phelim O’Neill, I protest against this insulting language,” 
said Fingal angrily, while the bishops strove by signs to close 
the knight’s mouth ; “ an’ we petitioned for arms it was for our 
own defence, as God he knoweth !” 

“For your own defence! — truly, my Lord Fingal, you must 
19 


194 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


take US for fools ! — was it in his own defence that Talbot of 
Malahide marched forth against the brave clans of Wicklow, as 
it were, to finish Coote’s work 7 Bah ! such Catholics are as so 
many festering sores in the body — I would to heaven I might 
deal with them ! I vow to God I would sooner measure swords 
with one of your Clanrickardes or Talbots, or such like men, 
than the blackest Puritan in the English Parliament !” 

“ Hear you that, Father Walsh V' said Preston, who had not yet 
spoken ; “ but what ! the Franciscan hath vanished — and the 
Jesuit, too !” 

“ Not so, colonel,” said Owen Koe, pointing to another group 
of which the dark-visaged son of Loyola was the centre ; “he 
is enlightening Philip O’Reilly and Owen O'Rourke on the 
atrocities perpetrated in Dublin prisons — by my life he speaks 
as one who had seen it all — what manner of man may he be, 
for I heard him half an hour since bearing testimony against the 
Galway Earl in the same oracular fashion. How cometh he to 
know all these things and to speak of them as an eye-witness P’ 

He had addressed himself to the Bishop and the latter replied 
with a careless glance at the Jesuit: “ He is, in sooth, a far- 
seeing man, and a clear-headed — otherwise. I see or know no- 
thing worth remarking. But where is Father Walsh 1 Came 
he not hither with your Grace P’ addressing the archbishop. 

“ Of a surety, my lord, he followed us in, but I see him not 
anywhere present !” — and the prelate stretched himself to his 
full height to look around the room— “ no, truly, I see him not!” 

“ An’ your Grace seeketh Father Peter Walsh,” said a bene- 
volent-looking prelate of middle age, who had been engaged in 
a quiet conference with Sir Morgan Cavanagh and Bishop 
McSweeny of Kilmore; “I saw him but late busily engaged 
writing as I passed through one of the Bishop’s parlors.” 

“ Writing! — ^humph !” and the two prelates exchanged glances, 
and both looked significantly at Castlehaven. None of the Con- 
federates who knew the friar were surprised to hear that a dis- 
patch was sent off that same evening to Lord Ormond from the 
gate of the Franciscan Abbey. Indeed Father Peter took little 
pains to conceal his devotion to that lord, deeming it rather a 
proof of his religion and patriotism than otherwise. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


195 


Whilst the scene just described was passing at one end of the 
room, one of a different kind was going on. at the other. Alone, 
in the midst of that animated crowd, old Lorcan Maguire stood 
like the spirit of the past gazing around him with eyes of won- 
der, a pleased expression on his wrinkled, yet still commanding 
countenance. His nephew, Roderick, who was also in the room, 
had jhst left him to speak with Colonel Preston and Sir John 
Burke at a neighboring window, and the old man looked §o 
lonely that Hugh Byrne was crossing the room to engage him 
in conversation, when all of a sudden he started off with the 
lightness of early youth and disappeared through an opposite 
doorway, where a dark narrow passage led to the main hall of 
the building. 

A hearty laugh from the good-humored colonel attracted gen- 
eral attention,, as he in turn stood alone in the centre of the room 
gazing down the passage. 

“ By Our Lady, Rory,” said he addressing Maguire, “ that 
venerable uncle of yours hath a flea in his bonnet — never saw I 
man of his age tramp so lightly as he hath done but now from 
this room. Here did I cross the room to have a talk with him on 
matters appertaining to the other world, and in the twinkling of 
an eye he flew — ay ! faith, flew — through yonder door — think 
you he saw a spirit 1” 

“ I pray you heed him not,” said the attached nephew ; “ he 
hath odd ways at times and doeth things that perchance no one 
else would do, but an’ you knew him as I do, Hugh, you would 
respect even his oddities and the terror of Enniskillen, the 
fierce young avenger of Maguire’s wrongs, shamed not to raise 
his hand and wipe away a tear. Anxious to attract attention 
from his uncle’s movements, whatever their object might be, he 
hastily resumed the thread of discourse, inviting O’Byrne to 
listen to Preston’s account of Father Wadding’s reception on a 
late occasion at the Court of Versailles, when the great Cardinal 
pledged himself before all the diplomatic corps to see justice 
done to Ireland. This interesting recital drew a crowd of the 
deputies around Preston, Lord Castlehaven among the rest, and, 
by the time it was ended, he had all but made up his mind to 
join the Confederates. 


196 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“You will do well, my lord earl,'* said Nicholas French, the 
wise and learned Bishop of Ferns, to whom he had specially 
addressed himself, “ Look around this room — note well the lords 
and gentlemen and priests and prelates in it assembled — yet of 
a surety they be but a third or so of those whom the morrow 
will bring together for solemn deliberation — bethink you if the 
cause upheld by all the chief men of the Irish Catholics, as well 
clerical as lay, ay ! even at the point of the sword and to their 
grievous and unspeakable privation of worldly goods, can be a 
bad one 1 The bare idea is absurd, and unworthy a moment’s 
entertainment. Make up your mind at once, then, my lord of 
Castlehaven, leave worldly considerations behind as so many of 
your friends have done even now, and girding on your armor for 
God and poor bleeding Ireland, win fame and honor, and, above 
all, the approval of your own conscience ! In God’s name, my 
dear son, do as I tell you, to the end that at the gr^t accounting 
day this my admonition may not rise against you in judgment !” 

“I will take the rules, then, and the written oath to my 
lodgings,” said the Earl, “ and consider them over night, begging 
the favor of your lordship’s prayers that I may be directed from 
on high what course to take.” 

Whilst this was passing within the room, Lorcan Maguire had 
darted down the passage in the wake of a muffled figure whose 
attire, as well as he could judge from the dim light, was the 
coarse frieze of a Franciscan, with _ the high narrow hood 
drawn over the face. This was the apparition whose beck had 
drawn the old man from the room so inopportunely for the 
Wicklow chief. 

It was a youthful face, although a haggard one, that looked up 
at the old man from under the hood when, panting after his race, 
Lorcan came to a stand. The light was dim, so that objects were 
barely discernible, and yet it seemed to him as though he had 
seen the face before and the glance of the upturned eye made 
him quail he knew not why. 

“ Father,” said he after a moment’s awkward silence, “ I would 
know your pleasure.” 

A wan smile flitted across the face in the hood at the word 
“ father,” but it vanished in an instant, and a soft musical voice 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


197 


spoke : “ Doth Master Lorcan Maguire forget the head of his 
house, or hath he no bowels for the son of his brother languish- 
ing in a foreign land 

“ Friar, I do not !” said the aged chief with a convulsive 
start ; “ by my right hand, I would give my life an hundred 
times over to see Connor Maguire chase the roe as of old on 
Fermanagh hills — or better still, to see his youthful valor wielded 
against the foe — forget Connor ! my poor Connor, whom I first 
taught to cast a javelin or bend a bow — stranger, as soon would 
I forget my own heart.” 

• “ It is well — I knew it. I will tell you, then, mine errand 
hither. Brave and wise old man, I have thought of a plan by 
which your nephew and mayhap his companion may be set at 
liberty.” 

“ You have 1 Mother of God ! let me hear it !” 

“ Come farther this way, then — indeed I think it were best 
seek a place of greater privacy before my lips utter the words 
which, heard by other ears than yours, might do evil rather than 
good. Follow me, an’ you would hear more !” 

Gliding out into the open air, the monk, as he appeared to be, 
moved swiftly along the street, closely followed by Lorcan, till 
reaching the gaping arch of a once stately castellated building, 
then in ruins, he entered what had been the hall and Lorcan 
after him. 

“ Uncle of Connor Maguire,” said the muffled figure, “ would 
you, for his sake, venture into the great English capital V’ 

“ Why, truly, stranger, it doth seem like thrusting one’s head 
into the lion’s mouth, but, natheless, could I thereby do aught 
towards Connor’s liberation — marry, my old blood runs merrily 
at the thought. Monk ! — boy ! — or whatsoever thou art” — and 
the impulsive old man seized his companion’s hand and bent 
’eagerly forward— “ tell me only how I can serve poor Connor, 
and see if I shrink from any peril !” 

' “ The peril will not be yours alone,” said the stranger quietly ; 

“peril there will be, I deny it not, but another will bear the 
brunt «f it. It is but for youi* company and the protection of 
your reverend ago I ask you 1” 


198 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ IIow ! what am I to think 1” said the old man drawing 
hack. 

“ The spirits will tell you what to think before the time of 
starting,” said the monk in a half-serious, half-jesting tone ; “ I 
have heard that Lord Maguire hath creatures of air to watch 
over him, so trusting in their good offices, and those of the wise 
seer of Enniskillen, I will dare all things, yea, even the bolts 
and bars of the terrible Tower of London I Fare you well, 
more than friend. Heaven have you in its keeping till wejneet 
again.” 

lie was gone before Lorcan could question him farther, and 
the old man returned like one in a dream to the Bishop’s house 
pondering deeply on what had past. 

Meanwhile the foundation of much evil had been laid unwit- 
tingly by those most devoted to the national cause. Many of 
the Confederates had dropped off singly or in groups, some for 
the dispatch of business, some in search of amusement. Lord 
Muskerry and Lord Mountgarret, having only then heard of 
Castlehaven’s arrival, had just made their appearance, and it 
was clear from the manner in which the peer received their 
enthusiastic welcome, that, being of his own order, he placed 
the greater value on their friendship. When the room was 
thinned, as we have said, it so happened that most of those who 
remained were either prelates or distinguished laymen, and when 
the shades of evening began to gather awund Bishop Rothe 
invited all present to partake of his evening meal : 

“ Frugal ye will find it,” he said, “ my lords and noble gentle- 
men, but with such good company it will pass pleasantly.” 

He rose as he spoke, leaning heavily on a gold-headed stick 
which had been resting by the side of his chair. The two gen- 
tlemen nearest to him at the moment immediately stepped for- 
ward to offer their support, and as ill fortune would have it, who 
should they be but Owen Roe O’Neill and Thomas Preston. Al- 
though the latter was_the first to offer his arm, the aged bishop 
turned to O’Neill, and with a paternal smile placed his arm with- 
in his, and looked up in his face with beaming eyes. The apol- 
ogetic bow with which he acknowledged Preston’s civility was 
far from satisfying that officer, although he turned away with an 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


199 


air of assumed indifference. There was wounded pride and 
more than that in the look which he cast on O’Neill, and Owen 
said within himself : “ I much fear there is mischief in that 
glance. Surely he cannot owe me a grudge because the bishop 
took my arm instead of his. That were mean indeed and all 
unworthy so gallant a soldier.” 

Yet so it was. From that hour, the irrascible scion of the 
house of Gormanstown never failed to cherish a secret dislike 
towards O’Neill, a dislike which all through the pending strug- 
gle showed itself in various ways to the serious injury of the 
cause for which both fought so well. 

“ What could have induced his lordship to give so marked k 
preference to the northern leader inquired Castlehaven of the 
venerable Bishop of Ferns as they left the room together. 

“ Truly I know not, my lord earl,” replied the i)relate ; “ an’ 
it were as thou sayest, the which I saw not, I could give no other 
reason than this, that my right reverend brother had the happi- 
ness of administering the Bread of Life to General O’Neill this 
morning, whilst Colonel Preston and many of the other lords 
and gentlemen were a-strolling through Ormond’s grounds.” 

“ Humph !” said the soldierly peer with a smile of dubious 
meaning, “ then O’Neill is somewhat of a devotee — and it would 
seem that character is in favor here — perchance more so than 
high estate or military experience.” 

“ So should it be, my lord,” responded the calm and ever-pru- 
dent Nicholas French ; “ in an assembly of Catholics, met for such 
a purpose as ours, and trusting not in our own might but in the 
justice of our cause, it is surely expedient for all, as well lay as 
spiritual persons, to invoke the God of battles by constant 
prayer, and the frequent reception of the Sacraments!” 

Castlehaven said no more, for they just then entered the 
bishop’s homely eating-room, w'here the frugal repast was 
already spread, awaiting their coming. 


200 


THE CONFEQERATE CHIEFTAINS. 




CHAPTER XVII. 


“ We have cherish’d fair hopes, we have plotted brave schemes, 
We have lived till we find them illusive as dreams; 
#####*» 

And the steps we have climb’d have departed like sand.’ 

Epes Sargent. 


“ This leader was of knowledge great 
Either for charge or for retreat ; 

He knew when to fall on, pell mell, 

To fall back and retreat as well.” 

Butler’s Iludibras. 


The twenty-fourth day of October, 1642, is one of the few in 
the latter ages of Ireland’s history on which the eye loves to 
dwell. It was on that day that the grand assembly of the 
Confederate Catholics of Ireland first sat as a legislative body, 
and we may be pardoned surely if we look back with melan- 
choly pride on that vision of departed glory, suggestive as it is 
of what Ireland might be and may yet be. The Confederation 
may be renewed and fixed on a more permanent basis in some 
fortunate contingency of the national affairs, and a future gene- 
ration may see that sight, perhaps within the walls of the me- 
tropolis itself, but never again may be seen in Ireland another 
assembly like that whose remembrance invests Kilkenny with 
such varied and profound interest. The distinctive features of 
that scene belonged to that age, and with it have passed away 
for ever. The time and the circumstances were such as to give 
that national assembly a character of peculiar interest as well 
as importance. The Normans of the Pale and the ancient Irish 
were still two distinct races, distinct alike, in appearance, cos- 
tume, manners and language. The chieftains of the old blood 
still retained their ancient and most picturesque costume, while 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 201 

the lords and gentlemen of the Pale were clad in the sober and 
rather stiff, yet not ungraceful habiliments usually worn by the 
same class in England. Those again who came from abroad 
were as yet clad in the costume they had been wont to wear in 
the countries of their adoption, many of them glittering in the 
brilliant uniform of the Spanish, Austrian, or French armies, 
for the principal officers all took their seats at the council-board. 
The bishops were there in their episcopal garments, and the 
mitred abbots each in the distinctive habit of his order. These, 
with the lay-lords, formed the upper house, while the second 
order of the clergy, both secular and regular, sat with the gen- 
tlemen who were delegates from the several towns and cities, 
and with them constituted the lower house answering to the 
House of Commons. The lawyers again wore the grave and 
dignified costume of their office, so that each of the classes 
composing the assembly was easily distinguished from the 
others, and all together conspired to form one of the most im- 
posing arrays ever witnessed on Irish ground. Looking back 
now through the vista of two hundred odd years, how the heart 
swells with mingled pride and sorrow as we contemplate that 
picture: eleven bishops and archbishops, fourteen lords, and 
two hundred and twenty-six commoners,* many of the latter 
chiefs of high standing, all assembled in the sacred name of 
civil and religious freedom, to take the government of the 
country into their own hands and frame laws for the wants and • 
requirements of their people in the true spirit of paternal legis- 
lation. Oh ! it was a grand, a glorious scene, one that Ireland 
may well be proud of, for on that day, at least, all was peace 
and harmony, and brotherly love, all distinctions of race, all 
hereditary and personal feuds seemed buried, it was fondly 
hoped for ever. Few, few such bright spots adorn our annals ! 

A happy man was David Rothe, Bishop of Ossory, that day,f 

* Meehan’s Cor^f, Kilk. 

t Moore tells us on the authority of Dr. O’Connor that it was this 
learned and most estimable prelate who first suggested the idea of a 
general Confederacy, and also that he gave up his Cathedral for the 
first Session of the Assembly. 


202 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


when, prior to the opening of the session, the Confederates once 
more filled his Cathedral, and he stood at the high altar which 
he had recently erected and in the sight of that vast assemblage 
offered up the great Sacrifice of the New Law. And when Mass 
was over, and those present who had not as yet taken the oath 
came forward to repeat the solemn words before St. Canice’s 
altar, how fervently did the old bishop raise his hands and eyes 
to heaven and invoke a blessing on themselves and their un- 
dertaking. 

Amongst those who there took the oath of association was 
Owen Roe O’Neill, with the officers he had brought from Spain, 
and Preston with his Franco-Irish companions in anus. As 
these two distinguished officers stood side by side with right 
hand uplifted, repeating the solemn words, the Irish chief in his 
Celtic garb and the Norman gentleman in his French uniform, 
they were a fine picture to look upon, and many hearts amongst 
the highest and noblest and wisest there beat high with hope in 
the accession of two such leaders. Could any one present have 
foreseen the petty jealousy, the heart-burnings and the ruinous 
strife that grew up between those two, he could have wept tears 
of blood for the curse that was to blight so fair a prospect. But 
no one there happened to have the gift of prophecy, and so the 
brightness of hope was unclouded. 

Before the last words of Owen Roe’s oath had died away in 
echoes amongst the arches of the roof, another of noble mien 
and scarcely less martial bearing stepped forth and declared 
himself willing to take the same pledge. It was Lord Castle- 
haven, and a murmur of applause and satisfaction ran through 
the assembly, for that Earl was highly esteemed of all, and a 
man of undoubted bravery ; connected, moreover, with many of 
the first families of the kingdom, and hitherto so remarkable for 
his staunch adherence to the government party. 

“ I desire to take the oath,” said the Earl, and he drew him- 
self up with a look that seemed to say : “I trust you are all 
sensible of the favor I confer on you by joining your ranks.” 

“ Bless you, my son, bless you,” said the old bishop when the 
Earl had taken the oath ; “you have done well, and I hope God 
will crown our joint efforts with success. General O’Neill and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


203 


Colonel Preston, you will rejoice as I do to see my lord of Cas- 
tlehaven by your side at this hour — be ye henceforth as brothers 
working together as one man for the common good !” 

Those who looked ai Nicholas French of Ferns, or Malachy 
O’Kelly of Tuam, at that moment might have detected a certain 
quiet smile expressive of some doubt on the subject of tne union, ^ 
and down amongst the commoners certain significant looks weret 
exchanged — but no one spoke with the exception of Lorcan 
Maguire, who said very gravely to Art McMahon near him : 

“ I fear. Art, the chain is not made that will bind the Tales- 
men and the sons of the Gael together ! — there are rivers of 
blood between us, hard, hard to bridge across !” 

“ My lord of Ossory,” said the aged nobleman, Mountgarret, 
in his place at the chancel railing, “ your words do remind us of 
a work that must needs be done this morning before other 
duties are taken in hand : I mean the appointment of general 
officers for the several divisions of our army.” 

“It is well thought of, my Lord Viscount,” said the prelate 
with a benignant smile, “ but that you will do in our Parliament 
House, an’ I may so call it — bo it jour first act within those 
walls.” 

“ I object to the term parliament as applied to this assembly,” 
said Lord Castlehaven quickly ; “ our proceedings must have no 
such character, unless, indeed, you desire to become what the 
enemy would have you, rebels against the king’s majesty.” 

“ Loyalty again !” said Sir Phelim O’Neill to Miles O’Reilly 
his next neighbor; “ very loyal gentlemen have away of throw- 
ing cold water on everything. An’ we wait till their fire do 
boil our pottage, w'e may wait longer than will suit our 
stomachs. Rebels, forsooth ! how the word sticks in his loyal 
throat ! faugh !”— and honest Phelim drew up his large nose as 
though something of an ill odor /wii? touched his olfactory nerve. 
O’Reilly laughed and shook his head but made no reply. Ho 
was thinking of the day when after burying Bishop Beddoll 
with all the honors, he had apostrophized his memory as “ the 
last of the English,” and he said within himself : “ they are and 
will be an English colony — churchman and soldier, peer and 
yeoman, they are all alike — English hearts have they and none 


204 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


othei — natheless, their own interest may bind them to us now. 
An’ it be so, it is well.” 

From St. Canice’s the Confederates adjourned to the hall pre- 
pared for their deliberations, where the lords (spiritual and tem- 
poral) and the commoners having taken their respective places 
in the upper and lower sections of the hall, they proceeded to 
the election of their speaker, and with little opposition. Master 
Nicholas Plunket, a distinguished lawyer, a “ grave and rever- 
end seignor,” was duly installed in that office, and took posses- 
sion of the black oak chair prepared for his speakership behind 
a table of the same beautiful wood.* Corresponding to Mas- 
ter Plunket’s office in the Lower House, although of a different 
nature, was that whereto another eminent lawyer, Patrick 
D’Arcy by name, was ajppointed in the Upper House. Seated 
on a high bench of antique form — historians will have it “a 
stool” — this learned gentleman in wig and gown represented the 
Lord Chancellor, as it were to decide on the legal points mooted 
during the session. 

These preliminaries settled, with Master Nicholas Plunket on 
his chair behind his high teble, and Master Patrick D’Arcy on 
his “ stool” of office, the assembly proceeded to business, and 
first of all to define its exact nature and the objects it had in 
view.f Like all the other acts of this legislative body, that de- 

* The chair and table used by Master Plunket during that memo- 
rable session were to be seen until a few years ago, when their pro- 
prietor, to avoid the trouble of showing them to visitors, had them 
broken up and burned. So, at least, says Mrs, Hall, and I suppose 
we must accept the statement, although it is hard to believe that so 
much vandalism is to be found in Kilkenny. Could not the man 
have sent such precious relics of the past to the Royal Irish Acad- 
emy if he found their ownership too great a burden 1 

+ The assembly had all the appearance of a parliament, although 
the first act of the lay-lords, prelates and commons, was to declare 
that they did not intend it as such, fearing to infringe on the pre- 
rogative of the Crown, to which belonged the privilege of calling, 
proroguing and dissolving the Senate. It was, however, a povisional 
government, “ to consult of an order for their own affairs till his 
Majesty’s wisdom had settled the present troubles.” — Meehan's Con- 
federation, p. 43. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


205 


claration was moderate, calm and earnest, firm and dignified 
withal, and calculated to win universal respect. 

The next step was the appointment of the generals for the 
respective provinces, and when Lord Mountgarret stood up for 
that purpose, as President of the Supreme Council, a general 
stir was visible amongst the members of both houses. 

“ This question,” said the veteran peer, “ hath already been 
considered in the Council, but we would fain submit our choice 
to the General Assembly. First of all we have named Colonel 
Owen Mac Art O’Neill general of the Ulster forces. Is it your 
will that he be so appointed '1” 

An affirmative response came from all parts of the hall, in 
fact from every member of both houses, save only Sir Phelim 
O’Neill, who bit his lip and remained silent, to the great satisfac- 
tion of the chiefs near him, who had feared an explosion that 
would startle the house. 

“ For Leinster,” resumed Mountgarret, “ we have thought of 
another officer of rank, and, like General O’Neill, of high repute 
abroad. You all, doubtless, know who I mean.” 

“ My Lord President,” said Sir James Dillon, from his place 
in the Lower House, rising and bowing to the chair, “ as this is 
a matter foreign to our legislative functions, I conceive myself 
at liberty to address you directly. I object to that appointment 
before the name be publicly mentioned — there be one here 
present who hath, I conceive, a prior claim to the command of 
that army.” 

Hearing this, a murmur of surprise ran through the assembly, 
and each looked inquiringly at his neighbor, then every eye was 
turned on Preston, who sat motionless in his seat with a counte- 
nance of assumed composure, while his rapidly changing color 
and the angry frown on his broad brow showed him ill at ease 
and much disturbed in mina. 

“ You surprise me. Sir James Dillon,” said the President, 
“ and I needs must say that I regret to hear what I have heard 
from you. Union is, of all things, the most important to us, and 
I had hoped that these appointments would have been made 
without one dissentient voice. Do you still persist in your design 
of proposing another general for Leinster V 


206 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ I do, my lord, and I think the majority of the assembly will 
approve of the nomination I am about to make.” 

“ In God’s name let us have it, then,” said the old lord with 
the slightest possible show of displeasure ; “ who would you 
have to command the army of Leinster I” 

“ He is here, my lord ! to speak for himself,” and turning 
he bowed to a cavalier in a costume half-Spanish, half-Irish, 
who had been sitting for some time near him partially concealed 
by the tall form of Owen O’Neill. In the general bustle attend- 
ing on the opening of the assembly this personage passed 
unnoticed, but when he rose and stepped to the front and bowed 
around with a smiling countenance as to a gathering of old 
familiar friends, a cry of joyful recognition arose from lords and 
commons : 

“ It is Roger O’Moore !' exclaimed the Norman knights ; “ it 
is Rory O’More,” echoed the Celtic chiefs, and all seemed alike 
rejoiced to see the accomplished chieftain of Leix onco more in 
their midst. 

“ Why, then, a hundred thousand welcomes, Rory !” cried Sir 
Phelim O’Neill, as he crossed the hall to have a shake hands ; 
“ where have you hid yourself since ■ — ” 

“ Since Kilrush,” said O’Moore in an under tone, as he warmly 
shook the proffered hand, at the same time .piaking a sign for 
the impulsive northman to resume his seat. “ This is no place 
or time for explanations !” 

Meanwhile a conference was going on in the upper part of the 
hall between Lords Mountgarret, Muskerry, Castlehaven, and 
one or two of the bishops. A difference of opinion seemed to 
prevail amongst them, judging by their jestures and the earnest 
manner in which they spoke. Lord Gormanstown, from his near 
relationship to Preston, thought it indecorous to give an opinion, 
but, while he affected to converse on some other subject with 
Lord Fingal, who sat next him, there was a restless, anxious 
look on his face, and he glanced furtively from time to time at 
the group of peers before-mentioned. 

O'Moore and his friends manifested no such anxiety ; they 
were evidently confident of success. 

At length the other peers took their seats again, and Lord 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


207 


Mountgarret addressed the assembly with the air of a man who 
had an unpleasant task before him. 

“ No one here,” said he, “ doth entertain a higher opinion of 
Mr. O’Moore than I do myself — as a man, a gentleman, a Chris- 
tian, and a patriot, we are all prepared to admit his rare merit — 
but, lords and gentlemen, what experience hath he had of mili- 
tary affairs 7 — war is a trade which, like all others, must needs 
be duly learned ; ay ! and well-practised to give promise of suc- 
cess. What apprenticeship hath our honored friend made to 
that trade to entitle him to set up in business 7 And, bethink 
you, it is the business of the whole nation ?” 

“ But this have I to say, my Lord Mountgarret,” said O’Moore 
with that lordly air which he well knew how to assume, “ to 
wit, that your lordship’s memory must needs be somewhat short- 
ened of late, else would you remember that the whole of this 
business, now so flourishing, was first started by me. Surely 
the man that set the wheel a-moving has the best right to keep 
it in motion, and, moreover, though I say it myself, the people 
are all well affected towards me, and will follow my stand- 
ard sooner than that of a stranger — craving Colonel Preston’s 
pardon !” 

Lord Mountgarret shook his head. “ I am mysell somewhat 
of a soldier,” said he, “ as you all know, and, with the best in- 
tentions, I confess I have found myself often at fault for want 
of skill in strategy. I know full well, Mr. O’Moore, what we all 
owe to your untiring zeal and patriotism — I know, too — we all 
know that you might raise an army in less time than any one 
here present, but, being raised, what would you do with it 7” 

“What other men do — I promise no more,” said O’Moore 
carelessly. 

“ What Mountgarret did at Kilrush and Barry at Liscarroll,” 
said Castlehaven with a malicious smile to Lord Dunboyne near 
him ; “ methinks we have had enough of such generalship.” 

Mountgarret heard not the words, but the same thought was 
his own. 

“ My lords and gentlemen,” said he addressing the assembly, 
“ I will refer this matter to your decision, reminding you only 
that much time hath already been spent without any profit 


208 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


worth speaking of. Castles and towns have been taken and re- 
taken, skirmishes beyond number have been fought with various 
success, and, I grieve to say it, the more important actions have 
all gone against us, to the great discouragement of our follow- 
ers, and the great waste of our supplies, begged all over Europe 
— why is this, brethren of the Confederation 'I — I hardly know 
myself, you may not choose to answer in such wise as your 
judgment would suggest, but this we must all acknowledge, that 
it behoveth us to seize the greater and more certain advantage 
offered us for the furtherance of our cause. For the command 
of the Leinster army you have now to choose between Colonel 
Thomas Preston, a gentleman of tried valor, and of long and 
honorable experience in the art of war, and our much esteemed 
ii lend. Master Roger O’Moore, who, with high blood in his veins 
and all manner of accomplishments, not to speak of the part he 
took in setting this work a-going, is yet wanting, as all must 
know, in that experience which is the first thing to be looked 
for in a general ” 

From a half-open door, behind Master D’Arcy’s elevated seat, 
came the voice of one singing, loud, clear and bold : 

“ The tauct and the sneer let the coward endure, 

Our trust is in God and in Rory O’Moore.” 

“ Close that door !” cried the President angrily, as he marked 
the smile on the faces of the Irish chieftains. It is for you 
now to decide, ray lords and noble gentlemen, who shall be com- 
raander-in-chief of the Leinster forces.” 

“ There be out-door machinery at work, I perceive,” observed 
Preston in a tone of affected indifference ; “ Master Rory O’ Moore 
must needs have his heart set on the office when he employs 
the ballad-mongers of the city to sing him into it. Truly he 
may have it, for all I — r- !” 

“ Have a care what you say. Colonel Preston,” said Sir John 
Netterville who sat next him; we may deem it inexpedient to 
place O’Moore at the head of an army, but, natheless, the 
man steps not in shoe leather who may speak lightly of him in 
this company. His day will come, for nought is wanting to him 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


209 


but military service — he hath a good head and a strong arm and 
courage to dare all things ” 

“ I thank you for your good opinion, Sir John,” said O’Moore 
who had overheard what passed between them ; “ but my 
day, as you call it, will never come, an’ it come not now !” 

Much talking and debating followed, most of the old Irish 
present being inclined to appoint 0 Moore, but even they were, 
after some consultation, convinced that the step would be un- 
wise, not only on account of the inexperience of that chieftain 
as a military leader, but also because of the offence it would 
give to Preston, after the unanimous appointment of Owen 
O’Neill. O’Moore, it was thought, could and would waive his 
claim in view of the common good. Dillon, Netterville and Sir 
PJielim O’Neill, all stood up to protest against the appointment 
of any other than O’Moore, but with a majestic wave of his hand 
Mountgarret silenced them all, and then proceeded to declare 
Colonel Thomas Preston duly commissioned to the supreme 
command of the army of Leinster. 

“ It is well,” said O’Moore, standing up once more with that 
graceful self-possession which he never lost, “ it is well, and the 
assembly hath doubtless shown its wisdom in its choice. It 
was the dream of many a weary month to me that I should have 
the command of the army to be raised in that province — where 
of bid the O’Moores fought much and well — with that expecta- 
tion I did apply myself to study the art of war hoping that the 
time for action was not far distant. The dream was presump* 
tuous, it may be, and I am free to admit that you have done well 
in securing the military talents of Colonel Preston. With such 
a commander all must needs go well, and I need not say that no 
heart will rejoice more in his success than he who now addresses 
you — for the last time.” 

“ For the last time, Rory ! say not so, I beseech you !’’ said 
Owen Roe advancing towards him with more emotion than he 
usually manifested, while many others followed his example, all 
eager to testify their respect and esteem. “ What were the Con- 
federation without Rory O’Moore I” 

“ What it hath been for months past, when my name was un- 
named and my absence unnoticed by any. For your sake, Owen, 


210 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


I am sorry, for it was my hope, I may confess it, that as 
brothers-in-arms we should uphold together the glorious banner 
which Sir Phelim here and O’Reilly and McMahon uplifted on 
your Ulster hills just one twelvemonth since.” And in turn he 
grasped the hand of each chieftain as he named his name. 
Owen’s hand he held the longest and looked into his eyes with 
the fond affection of a brother. “ Fare you well, friend of my 
heart,” he said with a fervent pressure of his hand which O’Neill 
returned with deep emotion ; “ neither of us foresaw this hour 
when by the Manzanares’ banks in sunny Spain we talked of home 
and freedom, and what things we must needs accomplish for 
the oppressed children of the Gael. Your aid is gladly accepted, 
Owen, but mine hath been rejected — they have cast me out, and 
I go forth to seek a new sphere of action !” 

“ Mr. O’Moore,” said Lord Mountgarret, “ I grieve that you 
should deem us so ungrateful. There will be many offices of 
high trust in our gift, the which you can fill with profit to the 
nation.” 

“ I thank your lordship,” said the chieftain coldly ; “ you had 
but one office which I desired to have, and that you have given 
to another.” 

“But surely,” said Archbishop O’Kelly from his place in the 
upper hall, “ surely you will not abandon the cause for that 
you cannot have things your own way. Nay, you will not, dare 
not r 

“ God forbid that I should do as your grace saith,” returned 
O’Moore with a reverential salutation ; “ I can serve you abroad if 
not at home, and so, with the divine blessing, I mean to do. 
For myself, you shall see me no more, but my heart shall ever 
be with you, and what I can do to raise subsidies abroad shall be 
be freely done. It hath been said that I am more of a diploma- 
tist than a soldier, and it may be true. Since you will not have 
my service in one capacity, I must e’en render it in the other. 
I humbly salute your grace and all this illustrious assembly — 
may heaven direct your conncils to a good end !” 

“ Will you not shake hands with me. Master O’Moore 1” said a 
strong, sonorous voice near him, and Preston elbowed his way 
through the crowd of chiefs. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


211 


“ With all my heart, general ! and may success attend you !” 

“Hear you thatl” said Sir James Dillon to those around 
him ; “ poor Roger is the first to give him that title.” 

“ Could we not prevail upon you to remain with us T’ said the 
new general. 

“ It cannot be, Master Preston ! my path of duty began be- 
yond seas, and there I see it is to end. It matters not, good 
friends !” — and he turned to each with a moistened eye and a 
fiushed cheek — “ we shall all work to the same end, and if we 
meet no more on earth we shall meet, I trust, where our reward 
awaits us. Friends ! kind friends — true friends — remember me 
as I shall ever remember you !” 

And grasping again each offered hand, he cast a parting 
glance around the room, bowed with all his wonted grace to the 
lords and prelates, many of whom stood up to receive his fare- 
well, and then walked with a princely mien to the door, where, 
turning, he bowed to the entire assembly, and withdrew in 
silence. 

Although many an eye was wet amongst the Irish chiefs, and 
even amongst the Norman Palesmen, few ventured to give ex- 
pression to their thoughts, whatever they might be. Sir Phelim 
O’Neill, indeed, was almost the only one. 

“ Well ! I thought Rory would have overlooked it,” said he, 
as though speaking to himself ; “an* it had been me, now, no 
one would have wondered, but Rory O’Moore to leave us in 
anger that way — I wouldn’t have wished it for half of Tyr- 
Owen, even on his own account !” 



212 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ And thougli he posted e’er so fast, 

His fear was greater than his haste ; 

For fear, though fleeter than the wind, 

Believes ’tis alvvays left behind.” 

Butler’s Hudibras. 

“ I will believe 

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 

And so far will I trust thee.” 

Shakespeare. 

The Leinster affair once settled, the other appointments oc- 
cupied hut little time. Barry, as might be expected, was unan- 
imously chosen to command the army of Munster, or rather 
continued in that office. As for Connaught, the name was no 
sooner mentioned than Lord Castlehaven and Bishop McMahon 
and half a dozen others were on their feet in an instant to name 
the Earl of Clanrickarde. 

“ I object to that appointment,” said the Archbishop of Tuam. 

” On what grounds, my lord T’ inquired Castlehaven. 

“ On the grounds that that lord is not only no friend of our 
cause but a bitter and determined enemy.” 

“But suppose he should one day see through his error, and 
take his place amongst us T’ 

“ It will be time enough, then, to nominate him for any office.” 

“ But could we not name him now as commander-in-chief I” 
persisted the Earl ; “ he may decline, and probably will, but, 
natheless, the compliment might please him.” 

“ I tell you no !” repeated the prelate sternly ; “ he would not 
thank us for the compliment, and, moreover, the man deserveth 
no respect at our hands. I will never consent to send our offices 
of trust and honor a-begging after renegades — ^pass him over, I 
say ! — we will none of him !” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


213 


“But, I pray your grace to consider — ” chimed in Lord 
Howth, who seldom volunteered an opinion. 

“ I have considered — we have, or ought to have — all considered 
that we might as well appoint Lord Ormond as Lord Clanrickarde ! 
It were the act of fools, and I say again I will have no more of 
it. My Lord Mountgarret, I pray you close this matter ! Sir 
John Burke hath been spoken of for this command, an’ I mis- 
take not !” 

“ Ay, hath he,” said the Bishop of Clonfert, himself one of the 
Be Burgos, “ a Burke worth a dozen of Ulick, at least for us, 
and a chief man in that province, too ; one, moreover, who hath 
seen good service and stands well approved !” 

“ So let it be, then,” said Lord Mountgarret, and immediately 
he declared Sir John Burke general of the Connaught army, no 
dissentient voice being raised against him. These four generals, 
then, duly appointed, were empowered to levy forces at need in 
their respective provinces, and otherwise to take such measures 
as might be found expedient for the interests of the service. 
Lord Castlehaven, having so lately joined the Confederates, re- 
ceived no special appointment, but agreed, nevertheless, to serve 
in any of the provinces in a sort of general way, as he tells us 
in his Memoirs. 

That done, Mr. Patrick D’Arcy arose and begged to remind 
the Supreme Council and the honorable Assembly of a certain mat- 
ter of much legal importance. All eyes were instantly turned on 
the grave lawyer, who, after sundry “ ahems,” of a professional 
nature, went on : 

“ The Council will, I presume, find it necessary to issue writs 
and documents of divers kinds from time to timel” 

“ Assuredly, Master D’Arcy,” said Lord Mountgarret ; “ that is 
understood.” 

“ And you will seal them, doubtless V* 

“ Of a surety. Master D’Arcy ! Wherefore notl” 

“ I said not against it, my lord, but would simply ask where is 
your seal of office I” 

“ I protest I never thought of that,” said the aged nobleman 
looking around, while a glow of pleasure suffused every face at 
the thought of having a “ great seal,” for their Supreme Council. 


214 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ What say ye, lords and gentlemen, who will furnish a device 
for our sign manual T* 

Many devices were furnished and many opinions offered on 
the subject. Some were for having the Celtic and the Norman 
emblems associated, others for only one national device, and 
others again for a union of religious and national emblems. The 
latter thought, which was that of the bishops, prevailed, and a 
beautiful design was speedily adopted : “ In the centre was a 
large cross, the base of which rested on a flaming heart, while 
its apex was overlapped by the wings of a dove, on the left of 
the cross was the harp, and on the right the crown.”* 

A goodly device it was, and the motto was no less happily 
conceived ; Pro Deo, Rege, et Patria, Hiberni Unanimes. 
Thus the legend ran, and coupled with so fair a device, it hap- 
pily expressed the objects which the united Catholics of Ireland 
had in view. Their hopes, their plans, their aspirations, were all 
condensed into that one admirable sentence, and when the seal 
was struck and first presented to the assembly it gave satisfac- 
tion to all. When first used in the name of the Confederation on 
an order to raise men and money in the wealthy province of 
Leinster, the document was handed round for inspection, and we 
may imagine the feelings of Owen Roe, and many others scarcely 
less devoted to the national cause, as they gazed on the precious 
memento. 

“ The great seal of Ireland,” murmured Owen partly to him- 
self, partly to O’Reilly of Breffny, at his side; “now that 
sight was worth living for. Pro Deo, Rege, et Patria , — for God, 
our king, and our country — surely yes — Hiberni Unanimes. 
Heaven grant, friend Philip, we be always Unanimes — on that 
I)oint doth our success turn.” 

“ Come, come, general ! no doubts, no fears with that seal be- 
fore us, the grand assembly sitting in council, our colors flying 
over tower and town, and our vessels scouring the seas.”f 

* Meehan, quoting Harold’s Life of Wadding. 

t Independent of the ships sent from the Continent, letters of 
marque were given to many others by the Supreme Council to servo 
as privateers. These were, even at the time we write of, numerous 
on all the coasts. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


215 


“ Ay, marry, and Father Luke Wadding scouring the lands,” 
put in Sir Phelim whose bulky form just then intercepted the 
light from a window behind Owen. “ That man is worth a dozen 
privateers — no disrespect to them, either.” 

“ Poor Rory !” sighed Owen still following the train of his own 
thoughts, with his eyes fixed on the seal, “ you were the first to 
set this union on foot, and now when it waxeth strong and takelh 
shape and form you have cast it from you as a worthless thing. 
Oh, Rory ! friend and faithful councillor ! is this your example 
for our Hiberni Unanimes ? Shall we see you no more, oh ! 
gifted son of the ancient racel Excuse me, friends! but my 
heart is heavy when I think of Rory O’ Moore, going forth as he 
does, with the barb of ingratitude rankling in his heart !” 

“ Pooh! pooh ! man,” said Sir Phelim carelessly ; “ an’ he be 
so easily separated from us he is scarce worth the having. 
Others have lost what they had as good a right to as Rory had 
to the Leinster army. But who cares for a home-spun native 
like Philip O’Reilly or Phelim O’Neill — what say you, Philip I” 
and he slapped O’Reilly lustily on the shoulder. , - 

“ I cry you mercy. Sir Phelim,” said the BrefFny chief some- 
w^hat chafed ; “ I would rather have your word than your blow 
any time. Of your affairs or mine there is no question now, but 
as for O’Moore, I cannot think, general” — addressing Owen Roe — 
“ that he means what he says : he will not leave us at such a 
juncture !” 

“ I fear he has left, and for ever,” said Owen sadly ; “ I have 
sought him in vain since his appearance before the assembly, 
and lam told he hath actually sailed for Spain.” And so he had, 

“ And the land of his heart’s hope he saw never more.” 

A great stir was made at first about his disappearance, and 
little else was talked of for many days, but the surmises and 
conjectures, the regrets and complaints all came at last to an end, 
and were swallowed up in the whirl of passing events, and the 
name of Rory O’Moore gradually died away on both sides the 
Bregah, and was forgotten, save by Owen O’Neill, and Dillon, and 
Netterville, and a few others who had been his early associates 
in the great work. 


216 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Whilst all Kilkenny was ringing with the unaccountable re- 
tirement of O’Moore from the Confederation, the young Tanist 
of Fermanagh and the friends of his family were thrown into 
strange confusion by the mysterious disappearance of Korean. 
The old man had bade his nephew good night with unusual emo- 
tion one evening late, after the breaking up of the assembly, and 
Koderick laughed as he shook his hand, saying : “ Uncle, what 
is amiss with you 1 One would think you were going a long 
journey !” 

The old man shook his head and sighed. “ The doom of our 
race is dark and heavy, Roderick, my son, and it weighs down 
the head of age at times.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! the spirits are at work again, I see. Have they 
followed us all the way to Kilkenny V' 

“ Nay, Roderick, scoff not at the things which thou knowest 
not,” said the old man solemnly ; “ all places are alike to the 
creatures of air. They have been with me, son of my brother, 
since I came to this city of memories, and they have told me 
things which my lips may not utter or your ears hear.” 

“ Said they aught of Connor'?” inquired Roderick with more 
earnestness than he was aware of. 

“ Even that I may not answer, nephew ! Their words are not 
to he repeated unto mortal ear. Tliis only will I tell you : the 
oak of Fermanagh shivers in the blast — the storm is in its 
branches — the voice of the winds is loud, and wild, it may be 
mournful — the hour of fate draws nigh — how it will pass — how 
the storm will end — what the wind-spirit discourseth unto us, is 
hidden from me, as yet. Farewell, son of Maguire ! farewell, 
Roderick of the spears ! pleasant dreams be yours this night, 
pleasanter than those of your old uncle !” 

Do as he would, all that 'night bold Roderick could not get 
rid of tlie strange impression left by his uncle’s words and man- 
ner. Accustomed as he was to his eccentric ways, he could not 
but feel that there was something more than usual in his 
thoughts, and in vain, and, indeed, involuntary speculation on 
what it might be, the Tanist spent his night. Next morning 
brought the astounding news that Korean was not to be found — 
he had been seen at early dawn passing out through one of the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


217 


gates in company with a young Franciscan friar. The sentry at 
the gate who chanced to be acquainted with the personal ap- 
pearance of the old northern warrior, gave a ludicrous account 
of the singular figure he made in a surcoat, hose and jack- 
boots, with a small steel morion on his head, and the long grey 
locks, the growth of seventy summers, which had streamed on 
the breeze in Milesian glory, all carefully shorn away. It was 
a picture to excite the risible faculties of those who knew the 
old man, and at first his nephew did laugh heartily, sup- 
posing some strange conceit, some passing whim, had in- 
duced Lorcan to don that garb, so odious in his eyes, and that 
evening, or, at farthest, the ensuing day would bring him back 
to his anxious friends. But when evening came, and morning 
came, and the next day passed away without any tidings of 
him, then Roderick began to couple his disappearance with his 
mysterious inuendos of the previous night, and something smote 
him with a sad presentiment of evil. Who could the friar be 
who held secret communings with the simple old man, and final- 
ly carried him off on some errand known only to themselves, 
for that Lorcan’s disappearance was owing to this stranger’s in- 
fluence Roderick was quick enough to perceive. 

“ What the mischief,” cried Hugh Byrne when his friend un- 
bosomed himself of his fears and misgivings ; “ could it be the 
same friar at whose beck Lorcan quitted me so hastily some 
days since at the bishop’s V' 

“ How is that, Hugh 1 — I heard not of it — I pray you tell me 
how it was !” 

O’Byme then related the incident which, of course, went to 
confirm Maguire’s suspicions. That the friar was somewhat 
other than he seemed there was every reason to suppose, but 
as no clue was left to trace the mystery, Roderick was forced 
to leave the matter as it was, hoping that time would ere long 
throw light upon it. 

On the night following Lorcan’s disappearance, there stood by 
the old market-cross of Kilkenny two men arrayed in the Celtic 
garb as usually worn by the clansmen, with coarse woollen scarfs 
of variegated colors wrapped in many folds around their chest 
and shoulders instead of the short cloak or cape worn by the 
20 


218 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


chiefs over the tight-fitting jacket. One of these was tall, and 
lank, and slightly bent forward, while the other was short and 
thick, and well planted on his limbs. They were talking in the 
native language concerning what they had seen since they came 
to Kilkenny, and as the hour was late and the streets well nigh 
deserted, they conversed in a louder tone than they would other- 
wise have used in such a place. Moreover, they were neither of 
them accustomed to the restraints of city life, for their days had 
all past amid the woods and in the fields under the free canopy 
of heaven far away in “ the north countrie.” So they chat- 
led away on that night in the market-place of Kilkenny as fear- 
lessly and freely as though they stood on their native heath 
within Ulladh’s borders. 

It was no other than Malachy McMahon and Shamus Beg 
O’Hagan who had chosen so drear an hour and so strange a 
place for their confabulation. It appeared from what they had 
been saying that Malachy was in attendance on Bishop Heber 
who had come forth by appointment in that silent hour to meet 
Father Peter Walsh, with whom he was then engaged in earnest 
conversation under the deep arch of a building some way up the 
street. 

“ He told me,” said Malachy, “ to walk up and down the street 
till he’d be ready to come. Between you and me, Shamus ! I 
don’t think much of that same friar he has taken up with since 
we came here. God forgive me for passing an opinion on one of 
his cloth, but to tell you God’s truth, Shamus dear, there’s some- 
thing in that man’s eyes, and in the sound of his voice that 
makes me that I can’t warm to him. But that’s neither here 
nor there — they say he’s a very pious man and a great scholar 
all out — at least the bishop says so, and what would bring him 
here now if he wasn’t the right stamp.” 

” What sort of a stamp, do you think, was that other friar 
that kidnapped poor old Lorcan Maguire 1” — Shamus asked 
this in a tone half serious, half jocular — “there’s one thing I can 
say myself about him and that is that he has the fairest and the 
comeliest face I ever saw under a hood. I’m thinking there 
must have been some eyes red, ay, and hearts sore the day he 
was ordained.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


219 


“Do you tell me so, Shamus,” replied Malachy drawing 
nearer and speaking in a more confidential tone ; “ I never got a 
sight of him myself, but as sure as I’m here it came into my 
head that it might be ne’er a monk at all but just a spirit or 
something that way that inveigled the old man away on account 
of the dealings he had with things of the kind all his life. Eh, 
Shamus 1 Lord save us, did you hear anything 

“ Why no, then, did you V* 

“ Well upon my veracity I did, Shamus ! if I didn’t hear like 
somebody laughing I’ll never trust my ears again.” 

“ Nonsense, Malachy, you’re ever and always imagining 
things,” said Shamus slapping him on the shoulder, “ and even 
if somebody did laugh, what of it I I’m sure there’s plenty of 
people hereabouts not in bed yet these stirring times.” 

“ True, true, Shamus ! — God bless you, but it’s you has the 
brave heart — it was God sent you across me the night, sure 
enough. How did you happen out at all T’ 

“ Oh ! I was just taking a bit of a walk with some boys from 
Qur own place,” said Shamus evasively, “ and as we turned a 
corner over there beyond, I caught sight of you walking up and 
down like a sentry, so I knew you’d be all the better pleased to 
have company whatever you were about, and I just let the 
others walk on till I’d come and see what you were at.” 

“ It was God sent you,” said Malachy with simple earnestness, 
“ for, to tell you the truth, I was beginning to feel mighty queer 
— there’s a ghostly look about the old buildings round here that 
I don’t like at all, at all.” 

“ You would like the place less an’ you knew it better, honest 
fellow,” said a gaily-dressed cavalier advancing from under the 
shade of the neighboring doorway. ^ .. 

“ The Lord save us, sir ! what is it you mean I” cried Mala- 
chy with a sudden start, as much at the stranger’s abrupt ap- 
pearance as the intimation his words conveyed. 

“Have a care, Malachy!” whispered Shamus, “it’s Sir John 
Netterville, no less 1” ' 

“ I mean,” said the knight carelessly, “ that the cross of Kil- 
kenny hath not the best of names. He were a bold man here 
in the city who would keep it company at this lone hour.” 


220 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“Ah then, why so, an’ it please you. Sir Johnl” inquired 
Shamus, for Malachy was suddenly struck dumb with fear and 
bewilderment. 

“You know me, then 7” said the young knight turning 
quickly. 

“ Indeed then I do, honored sir, there be few amongst us to 
whom the heir of Netterville is unbeknown, and sure didn’t I 
see you down at Charlemont not long agol But if it wouldn’t 
be making too free, would you condescend to tell us what’s 
amiss with the place about here 1” 

“ Maybe it’s a gentle place it is V’* ventured to put in Malachy. 

“ Worse than that,” and Netterville shook his head with a 
most doleful air. “ Know you that there was a woman burned 
on this very spot for witchcraft some three hundred years ago 

“ Mother of God !” cried Malachy, “ a woman burned — a 
witch — on this spot — come, come, come, Shamus !” raising his 
voice each time till it reached a scream, and clutching him at 
the same time by the shoulder. But Shamus had no mind to 
go without having his curiosity satisfied, and he would not stir 
an inch. 

“Ah then, how was it at all, Sir John I or is it in earnest 
you’d ber’ 

“ In sooth it is, Shamus — (you see I know you, too) — there was 
a witch burned here as sure as you and I have life in us— just 
on that spot where your friend is standing ” 

“ Oh, holy St. Malachy !” cried the man of Uriel, “ I’m done 
for now!” and with a spring little to be expected from his sober 
gait and mature years he reached the steps of a door some 
yards distant. Even that did not seem a place of security, for 
looking back, and seeing the old spectral cross still so near, he 
darted off in the direction of the bishop, nor stopped till he 
Gained his side, puffing and blowing like a whale. 

The burst of merry laughter which echoed through the silent 
street behind him sounded on Malachy’s startled ear like the 

* Any place supposed to be frequented by the fairies or good peo- 
ple was set down in common parlance as gentle, just as those sprightly 
elves were collectively styled “ the gentry ’ 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


221 


unholy mirth of a company of witches — even Shamus’s voice, 
familiar as it was, gave Malachy no security. 

In reply to the bishop’s anxious inquiry as to what had hap- 
pened, poor Malachy, as soon as he could speak, related in a fal- 
tering voice the cause of his fright. 

“ My poor Malachy !” said the bishop with affected commiser- 
ation, “ it was truly an unlucky chance which brought you 
thither.” 

“ It was all along of your lordship,” said the spoiled favorite 
testily ; “ had you and his reverence here been in your beds it 
isn’t wandering about like a ghost Pd have been — oh, wirra ! 
wirra ! what came over me at all I — as sure as I’m a living man 
it was on the very spot I stood on she was burned, for I feel 
ever since a kind of a weakness on me and a meagrim in my 
head that I never had before in all my born days. I’ll tell you 
what it is now, my lord, you must read an office for me the first 
thing you do to-morrow morning, or I’ll never be worth a pin !” 

“ That is the least I can do, Malachy,” said the bishop with a 
sly glance at Father Peter, who found it hard to keep from 
laughing, “ since you say it is my fault, and, in sooth, I think 
Father Walsh might do something that way, too, seeing that he 
is to blame as well as I for keeping you out of your bed.” 

“ One is enough,” said Malachy with unusual gruffness ; “ I’ll 
not trouble his reverence at this time. But might I make bold to 
ask will you stand here much longer I Dear knows,” he added 
in a half audible voice, “ if you were as wise as you’re old, it 
isn’t here you’d be or in such like company. But, ochone ! isn’t 
it like a child he is with all his learning !” 

Malachy’s abrupt appearance put a speedy end to the conver- 
sation, whatever might have been its nature, and the friar and 
the bishop moved quickly away in opposite directions, the latter 
followed as close as might be by his faithful attendant. 

By the time Sir John Netterville had enjoyed the hearty laugh 
afforded him by Malachy’s ludicrous terror, that important per- 
sonage was fully out of hearing, and the knight instantly ap- 
proached Shamus with an entire change of manner. 

“ Now that I have frightened away that grave simpleton,” 
said he, “I would know- from you, Shamus, all that you know 


222 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


yourself concerning the friar who, as you said a while ago, kid- 
napped Lorcan Maguire.” 

” Lord, sir, I knoV no more about him than just what I told 
Malachy,” Shamus replied, somewhat startled by the sudden 
vehemence of the other’s manner ; “ I did but say that he was 
young and well-favored — and that is all I could say inasmuch as 
I never laid eyes on him till yester morn — you needn’t look so 
hard at me, Sir John, for as true as if I was on my knees to the 
priest it’s the truth I’m telling you.” 

” And you never saw that friar till yester morn ? — bethink 
you, Shamus !” 

“ Never, Sir John, never, as I’m a living man !” 

“ Hath Sir Phelim any knowledge of him, think you 1” 

” I would you might ask himself that question,” the clansman 
replied somewhat sharply, for he liked not such questioning ; 
” it would ill-become me to speak for my noble master.” 

“ You are right, honest fellow,” said Netterville musingly ? 
” it were well an’ all servitors acted in like manner. Fare you 
well, and commend me to your master.” 

“ Before you go. Sir John,” said Shamus timidly, ” maybe 
you’d be kind and condescending enough to tell me was it in 
earnest you were about the witch P’ 

“ Surely yes, Shamus,” the knight laughingly replied ; “ there 
be few in Kilkenny town who cannot tell you the story of the 
Lady Alice Kelter, her two waiting-maids and accomplices, 
Basilia and Petronilla, and her wizard son William Utlaw, with a 
certain imp whom they named Kobert Artisson, and who did the 
bidding of the powerful witch Lady Alice.”* 

” Christ in heaven save us !” ejaculated Shamus, and raising 
his right hand he made with the thumb thereof the sacred sign 
on his forehead ; “ and was it Tier they burnt V' 

“ Not so, Shamus, it was the woman Basilia. The lady’s rank 
saved her, I know not how, and the other waiting-maid managed 
to escape from the country. It'is a strange tale, Shamus, and 

* For a curious account of this strange episode in the local history 
of Kilkenny, see Dublin Penny Journal, Vol. I., p. 74, and Hall’s 
Jutland, Vol. II. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


223 


overlong for me to tell, but ask any of the people hereabouts 
and you will hear it all. Hark ! the cock proclaimeth midnight 
— it is a dreary hour and a lonesome place — methinks you and 
I were better housed than shivering here in the cold moon’s ray.” 

So thought Shamus, too, and as he hurried away in search of 
“ the boys from his own place,” he muttered : “ There’s no^ luck 
with their underhand work, that’s the truth. Now there’s Bish- 
op McMahon and that tricky friar above yonder. Sir John Net- 
terville here, and Sir Phelim and General Preston down there 
below with their heads together — what it all means I’m sure I 
can’t tell, but there’s something in it — that’s plain.” 



224 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ A prison is in all things like a grave, 

Where we no better privileges have 
Thau dead men ; nor so good.” 

Bishop King. 

“ Oh ! give me liberty ! 

For were even Paradise my prison, 

Still I should long to leap the crystal walls.” 

Dryden. 

Whilst the Confederates were wielding supreme power in 
Kilkenny, appointing generals, framing laws, issuing letters of 
marque, and even coining money on their own authority, and 
astonishing all Europe by the boldness and promptness of tlieir 
measures, Maguire and McMahon lay immured in their English 
prison far from home and friends, and a prey to the nameless 
horrors of suspense in such a state as theirs. The roll of Irish 
drums came not to them over the waters, or the echo of their 
nation’s voice from the halls of St. Canice’s city. They knew 
nothing, heard nothing of what was passing in their own land, 
and had not even the poor happiness of bearing their misery 
together. They were separated, and their life was a dreary 
blank — an intolerable burden it would have been were it not for 
the faith that was strong within them and kept them from yield- 
ing to despair. But their hearts were growing cold and heavy, 
for it seemed to them as though all the world had forgotten 
them and left them to. their hard fate. This saddening convic- 
tion came slowly on Maguire’s mind ; the experience of his prison- 
life had shown him that a spirit of love kept watch over him, 
and the wonders he had seen accomplished by its agency buoyed 
him up with delusive hope, against reason and probability. 
Long he looked for the 're-appearance under one shape or an- 
otlier of her who had promised never to forget him, and this 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


225 


gleam of hope threw a faint sunshine athwart the gloom of his 
mournful existence ; hut as time wore on, as day succeeded day, 
and week followed week, and still no change, no ripple on the 
sluggish stream, the solitary star faded in the dim obscure, and 
a deeper dejection settled down on Connor’s heart. It was not 
the dark gulf yawning before him, all the more terrible for its 
dim uncertainty, neither was it the utter privation of all comfort 
that weighed the heaviest on that proud, sensitive heart, but the 
thought of being utterly forgotten in his dungeon while so many 
of his kindred breathed the free air of heaven, not to speak of 
the friends whose dangerous counsels had, as he bitterly thought 
hurried him into the pitfall. 

“ An’ we had but struck even one blow for our country and 
our God, or been sharers in one glorious action, this so drear 
blank were not within us,” he said within himself full many a 
time ; “ we would then have had at least one bright spot to look 
back upon, one thought to cheer us, but caught like a brace of 
bag-foxes, branded as traitors to the king without having drawn 
a sword or struck a blow in our country’s cause, and here left to 
pine in a foreign land, while at home the work we helped to plan 
is done by other hands, and the men of our race, mayhap, smit- 
ing the oppressor and rending their chains for ever, — oh ! God ! 
what a fate is ours — poor lone scape-goats pining in the desert 
of this accursed land !” 

Nevertheless, forgotten as the prisoners supposed themselves 
to be, there were those who never lost sight of them, and wero 
sorely troubled about their spiritual welfare. Of this number 
was Mr. Conyers, the Lieutenant of the Tower, a worthy man in 
his own way but somewhat thick-headed and a fanatic w'ithal. 

Great was the surprise and not small the indignation of Lord 
Maguire when this godly gentleman one day paid him a visit for 
the purpose of introducing a gifted divine, a recent acquaintance 
of his, whom he declared endued with more than mortal powers 
of persuasion, assuredly for the advancement of Christ’s kingdom 
on earth. 

Is he a pr’est T’ said Maguire coldly and without looking at 
the preacher. 

“Young man,” said Conyers “beware how you insult the 


226 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


cliildren of light by so much as naming in their presence the 
doers of dark deeds !” 

“ An’ he be not what I said, I’ll none of him,” said the Baron 
resolutely. 

“ Son of Belial, thou shalt hear him,” said the official person- 
age with rising anger ; “ thou and thine accomplice in guilt, blinded 
as ye both are, shall open your ears to the words of life from 
the mouth of this evangelical man — if willingly the better for 
yourselves, but hear him ye shall !” 

“ Yea, verily,” said the minister, a thin and somewhat ema- 
ciated young man, with a most woe-begone expresssion of coun- 
tenance ; “ yea, verily. Master Conyers, we will even sow our 
seed, be the soil as it may, and leave the fructifying thereof to 
Him who giveth the increase. My lord of Essex hath, as you 
know, a strong and merciful desire to snatch these poor brands 
from the burning.” 

“ An’ your lord of Essex would but take heed of his own 
spiritual affairs,” said Maguire sharply, “ he might find enough 
to do.” 

“ Did I ever tell you. Master Conyers,” said the melancholy 
preacher, without appearing to notice the prisoner’s remark, 
“ how a godly friend of mine in Dublin was moved by the spirit 
to attempt the conversion of these hardened sinners I” 

At this Maguire opened his eyes and tried to catch a glimpse 
of the minister’s face, but it was turned from him. Conyers 
answered in the negative. 

“ I marvel at my forgetfulness, for verily the deeds of Osee 
Judkins were in all men’s mouths.” 

Hearing this name, so well remembered, a light suddenly 
broke on Maguire, who with difficulty repressed the exclamation 
that rose to his lips. The preacher half turned at the moment 
and glanced furtively in his direction. 

“ Were his gifts equal to those of your learned companion I’* 
demanded Conyers. 

“ Say not learned," exclaimed the divine, as if somewhat 
offended by the term ; “ that wonderful man is not learned ac- 
cording to the ways of men— of books he knoweth nothing— his 
knowledge is from above, and his discourse with powers unseen 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


227 


by mortal eye. Verily he is a powerful man, and for that reason 
I named him unto you as one fit to deal with the traitor 
McMahon, whom men speak of as more obdurate than his fellow 
here present.” 

“ Truly, master preacher,” said Maguire laughingly, “ I am 
much beholden to you for your good opinion. Methinks it were, 
pity to baulk such a fair-spoken man in his godly purpose of • 
expounding unto me. Since your gifted friend hath been given 
a hearing by McMahon, I will not refuse to hear yow, apprising 
you beforehand, however, that my faith is not to be shaken by 
the breath of living man.” 

“ We shall see,” returned the minister calmly, “ and Master 
Conyers will perchance favor me with his company while I unfold 
the high mysteries of Revelation before these eyes now darkened 
and unable to bear the Gospel light T’ 

“ I pray you excuse me, reverend sir,” said Conyers hastily ; 
“ I have a multiplicity of business on hands this morning, and must, 
therefore, decline. I will now look in to see how it fareth with 
Master Seagrave — that McMahon is a reckless desperado, and 
the man is old — though, to say the truth, he looketh as though 
he were well able to defend himself— ay ! even by the carnal 
weapon ! I will see to it, natheless, and return hither anon.” 

He had hardly closed the door after him, locking and double- 
locking as usual, when the preacher commenced his polemical 
attack after a strange fashion. From beneath the folds of his 
long black cloak he drew forth — not a Bible — but a file, pointing 
at the same time to the straw which served the Baron for a couch. 
The suggestion was instantly acted on, and the instrument once 
out of sight, the minister next pointed to the small grated win- 
dow which, at a height of several feet, gave light to the room. 

“ Here is death — all but certain,” whispered the stranger ; 
“ heyond is freedom — it may and must be — in the dead of night 
make your file acquainted with that grating, but be sure you 
leave one bar uncut, and thereto, on the third night from this, 
you will fasten the end of that rope,” producing a small coil 
from under the clerical cloak. 

“ But who — who are you demanded Maguire in the same 
whispered accents. “ Mother of Mercy ! now I see your face, 


228 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


I know full well — ah ! I knew it — there is but one alive who 
would run such risk for Connor Maguire.” 

“In that you err,” said the strange visitor; “your uncle 
Lorcan hath willingly shared the danger — for your dear sake.” 

“ Ha ! he is, then, the powerful wrestler with the Evil One — 
the man who by means of his unearthly gifts is to bring over 
Costelloe McMahon 

“ Even so, but hearken to what yet remains. Having fastened 
the rope to the uncut bar, you must e’en let yourself down, 
trusting your life to Providence ; and, oh Connor ! be careful — • 
remembering that another life is bound up with yours ! One 
thing I forgot — on no account descend till you hear me say twice 
over, ‘ Babylon the mighty hath fallen !’ Note you well what I 
say r’ 

“ Ay, Emmeline, and I will do it, with God’s good aid, were it 
but for thy sweet sake — life hath grown i)recious to me of late 
since thou, beloved, taught me its value.” 

The look of unutterable affection which accompanied these 
words sent a thrill of joy to Emmeline’s heart, and she felt as 
though death itself were a light evil when balanced against 
Maguire’s love. She extended her hand — a beautiful hand it 
was too — and the Baron seizing it pressed it to his lips and to 
his heart, then dropped it, and, sighing, turned away. The dis- 
guised fair one eyed him with a conscious, exulting smile, then 
drawing forth from her loose hanging sleeve a small Bible, she 
gave a peculiar set to the wig of long black hair which covered 
her head, and composed her fair, chiselled features into the look 
they had worn in Conyers’ presence. 

“ I will e’en commence now,” said she, “ the godly task set 
before me, lest perchance we be taken by surprise.” Raising 
her voice, then, with a warning motion of the finger, she spoke : 

“Verily that power which you call the Church hath made 
compact with the Evil One to hand over to him the souls of men 
— an’ you come not forth from her. Lord of Enniskillen ! you 
shall perish with her !” 

The laugh which he could not repress died away on Maguire’s 
lips, for Mr. Conyers at the moment opened the door, and asked 
what progress had been made. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


229 


“ But little, I fear,” was the preacher’s answer. “ Heard yuu 
not the mocking laugh wherewith the reprobate greeted my poor 
attempt at exhortation V' 

“ He shall laugh the other way ere long,” said the lieutenant 
sternly, “ but your friend hath better hopes of the other. An’ 
you pay them another visit, when opportunity offers, you may 
find both better disposed.” 

“ They will but lose their time,” said Maguire in a surly tone 
as the pair withdrew, the preacher promising to return in a few 
days. ~ 

He did return but only to find Conyers and all his understrap- 
pers in an agony of fear and the Tower one scene of confusion. 
In answer to his urgent inquiries oft repeated, the divine was 
informed that the two Irish prisoners had made their escape on 
the previous night. 

‘‘ Made their escape 'I — how is that I” 

“ We have no time for giving explanations,” said Conyers who 
just then made his appearance. “Were it not for the recom- 
mendation of my lord of Essex, master what’s your name, I 
would e’en suspect that you know mere about this thing th m 
t any here.” 

“ Truly I know not your meaning, Master Conyers,” said the 
minister with perfect composure, “ but I know you have spoiled 
by your unaccountable neglect the most promising case of con- 
version I have yet had. It would have made my fortune with 
Lord Essex and other godly noblemen now at the head of affairs, 
had I but won over that pestilent rebel and recusant. Hath 
his lordship — hath the honorable House knowledge of this 
event T’ 

Conyers was so angry that he literally could not speak, seeing 
which the minister quietly made his exit, saying with a formal 
bow that he would go on the instant to the Earl of Essex to ac- 
quaint him with the gross insult which had been put upon him. 

“Who brought the files'? — answer me that!” cried the per- 
turbed lieutenant, following him to the door. 

“ Files !— what files 

“Why, the files that cut the prison-bars ot these recusants!” 

“ Come with me before Lord Essex and I will answer you — 


230 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


madman as you are !” returned the preacher in a contemptuous 
tone, still moving on towards the street. 

But that did not suit Conyers’ purpose. He, in common with 
many others, dreaded Essex more than he did the king, so go 
he would not. All that day he had a new cause of terror ex- 
pecting an angry visit from that powerful nobleman, but Essex 
never came, and when Conyers went himself some days after to 
see how the land lay, he was astounded to hear that the preacher 
had never made his appearance there since the escape of the 
prisoners. 

“ Surely that knave hath outwitted us both,” said the grim 
Parliamentarian general in a low voice, “ and what is worse, I 
see not how we can remedy the evil he hath wrought, so, I 
think. Master Conyers, the best we can do is to keep our own 
secret and say nothing of this wolf who came upon us in sheep’s 
clothing. For this time we can but set a watch on the various 
outlets of the city, so that, if the varlets are not already gone, 
they must needs fall into our hands — ^but an’ we catch them, 
Master Conyers ” 

“ Ay ! my good lord ! you will make sure of them !” 

“ Sure ! ay, marry, sure! Verily, I tell you. Master Conyers,^ 
their next prison shall be more secure than the White Tower.” 
And he smiled a grim smile. 

Whilst all London was ringing with the escape of the liish 
traitors, and Conyers, protected by the powerful influence of 
Essex, was enabled to ward off the storm of anger which would 
otherwise have been his destruction, Maguire and McMahon 
were safely lodged in the house of a faithful Englishman, a 
Catholic, who had once been a servant of the former in Dublin. 
This man had all along been in the secret of the projected 
escape, had provided the flies and ropes necessary to effect it, 
and it was to his house, at his own request, that the two friends 
were conveyed by their liberators. 

It was a raw cold night in dark November and the flickering 
flame of the oil-lamps did but little to dispel the gloom which 
enveloped the great city. All around the town was dark and 
silent as the tomb, save ever and anon when the voice of the 
warders was heard proclaiming how the night went from the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


231 


several divisions of the old fortress. It was a bold venture for 
Maguire and his friend to swing themselves down from the 
height of the White Tower trusting to the frail support of a rope. 
Yet they did so — even Maguire nerved with a strong and trust- 
ing spirit by the faith that was his support throughout, and also, 
it might be, by the tenacious love of life, strongest and most 
intense as the prospect of death draws near. They had both 
worked steadily at filing the bars during the long dark nights, 
and on the third morning all was in readiness agreeable to the 
instructions they had received. How long that day seemed, and 
how the night-hours when they came weighed like lead on the 
hearts of the poor solitary “jail-birds,” as they bitterly styled 
themselves. How anxiously they noted the sounds of life gra- 
dually dying away in the vicinity of the Tower, and how many 
fears and hopes chased each other through their minds concern- 
ing the welfare of the devoted friends who were running such 
risk to efiect their liberation. Fervently did they pray that, 
whatever became of themselves, no harm might befal those loved 
and loving ones on whom, next to God, their hopes rested. 

The night was far advanced and in all probability the warders 
were cozily taking a nap, sheltered in some wise from the pierc- 
ing wintry air, when all at once rose a cry beyond the moat, 
faint and subdued, yet distinctly audible to the two anxious 
listeners : 

“ Rejoice, ye just, Babylon the mighty hath fallen !” 

Immediately Maguire and McMahon removed the bars, already 
cut asunder, fastened the rope securely to the one in each win- 
dow left uncut, listening anxiously the while to ascertain whether 
the signal cry had attracted attention. After waiting for some 
time until they were perfectly satisfied that the slumbering 
guards of the Tower had paid no attention to the sound, they 
recommended themselves to God, the Blessed Virgin and the 
Saints, and at the same moment both let themselves down, and 
although their heads were dizzy with the swift descent from such 
a tremendous height, with the agonizing fear which only faith 
and prayer could enable them to bear and live when they found 
themselves suspended in mid-air, yet on reaching the ground 
they speedily and, as it were, miraculously recovered their breath 


232 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and the power of volition, and, by God’s great mercy, succeeded 
in swimming across the moat. Once on the other side they 
breathed more freely and ejaculated a fervent thanksgiving as, 
for the first time, they exchanged a hasty shake-hands. The 
outer wall was still before them, but whilst they stood deliber- 
ating in whispers how they snould surmount that last obstacle, 
a ladder of ropes was thrown across it, and after a brief but 
generous strife as to who should first ascend, McMahon, stouter 
and more active than his friend, seized the Baron and fairly lifted 
him to the first step of the ladder, whispering in his ear a char- 
acteristic joke on his slowness of motion. 

In a few seconds, the two stood together safe and sound on 
the outside, where Lorcan and the faithful Smithson awaited 
t.iein in the disguise of oystermen. The ladder was hastily re- 
moved, and stowed away under Smithson’s great jacket, then, 
without pausing to ask or answer questions, the four marched 
off, two by two, in the direction of Drury Lane, where Smith- 
son’s domicile was situate. 

“ Maguire,” said his friend as they trudged along, “ how do 
you feel T’ 

“ Like one in a dream,” Connor replied ; “ I cannot get con- 
vinced, do as I will, that I am once more at large, and I have 
dreamed that so often that I know not but this, too, may turn 
out a delusion.” . 

“ Let me wake you up, then,” said the mercurial Tanist, and 
drawing his fist he gave him a smart box on the side of the head ; 
“ is that a delusion, think you I” 

Before Maguire could answer a watchman from behind 
grasped McMahon by the shoulder. “ What meaneth this, my 
masters, — brawling on the street at an untimeous hour I Who be 
ye r 

Startled by this apparition and the abrupt inquiry which it 
behoved them not to answer, the friends exchanged looks of 
alarm, and began to meditate flight, but a low, cautious laugh 
from old Lorcan made them cast their eyes on the supposed 
guardian of the night, and the next moment Maguire had clasped 
a small white hand that came suddenly out from beneath the 
loose sleeve of the watchman’s coaL 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


233 


“ Thank God !” murmured a soft voice from under the Charley’s 
clumsy cap, “ thank God ! you are so far safe — but much cauuou 
is yet requisite. Hasten your steps.” 

“ But whither have you been 1” said Maguire anxiously as 
the two fell a pace or so behind ; “ my escape seemed but half 
certain when I looked for you in vain.” 

“ Shall I tell the whole truth said the soft voice, and it 
slightly trembled ; “ I was on my knees under a projecting arch, 
within sight of the Tower but seeing it not, for I dared not raise 
mine eyes — oh Connor ! what I felt during those moments ! — and 
I prayed — ay ! even to Mary the Virgin Mother — for the first 
time in my life — I begged of her who had herself known human 
agony, to look with pity on mine, and bring you safe through 
that awful moment — nay, do not laugh.” 

“ Laugh, Emmeline ! not for ten thousand worlds !” said the 
chief with thrilling earnestness ; “your words are as balm to 
my sorrow-worn heart — ay ! precious as the honey-dew of 
eastern story. But where are you lodged T’ 

“ At the house of this good man,” meaning Smithson ; “ your 
uncle and I have been well accommodated, but now methinks 
it were well for us* to go elsewhere — I, at least — until such time 
as you are all enabled to embark for Ireland, the which may 
not be for some weeks to come.” 

“ But whither — whither would you go I” Maguire anxiously 
inquired. 

“Nay, fear not for me — there be relatives of my mother here 
in town tu whom I will go in my own proper semblance. There, 
your uncle is looking back — fearing, perchance, that some super- 
natural agency — whereof I know not but he suspecteth me the 
possessor — may spirit you away beyond his ken ! Being a 
watchman, I must fall far behind, moreover, lest some prying 
eye might detect our companionshi[) ! Fare you well !” 

“ Be that your spiritual counsellor I” said McMahon, finding 
his friend again alongside; “ an’ it be, I begin to incline to your 
uncle’s notions concerning the guardian spirits of your race. I 
have not yet heard from you who or what this benefactor is, but, 
feeling that we owe our lives to him, her, or it, I desire to tender - 
my share of the thanks due, at the next appearance of the 


234 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


gracious vision ! I pray you bear that in mind, Connor ! lucby 
fellow as you needs must be !” 

Whilst these things were going on in the English metropolis, 
the belligerent parties in Ireland were pushing on the war with 
increasing vigor and activity. Ormond, with the comparatively 
small army at his command, was rapidly overrunning Leinster, 
while Preston’s levies were being raised and prepared for effective 
service. Lord Inchiquin and Lord Broghill, with Coote. Vava- 
sour and other generals of note, were keeping their ground, and, 
more than that, in Munster, notwithstanding that the Confederates 
were masters of the greater portion of that province. Muskerry 
and Mountgarret had gathered some laurels, and Colonel Butler 
had taken many a castle since the day he so chivalrously sent 
Lady Ormond in safety from Carrick’s walls. O’Byrne had dis- 
tinguished himself in many a skirmish with the enemy amongst 
his native mountains, and Sir John Netterville, with Richard 
Butler, a younger brother of Ormond, had also gained some ad- 
vantages for the Confederates. The former had defended Net- 
terville Castle during a protracted siege until relieved by a brigade 
under the command of Lord Dunboyne, another brave and effi- 
cient officer. Sir James Dillon and Sir Morgan Cavanagb had 
proved their prowess in various engagements with Ormond’s 
forces on the fertile plains of Leinster. One and all they had 
gone forth from the Council Chamber in Kilkenny (where the 
Supreme Council still sat) filled with new ardor and a more in- 
tense devotion to the sacred cause they had espoused. 

When Owen Roe and the other Ulster chiefs turned their steps 
homeward from Kilkenny, they found on approaching their own 
borders that some new impetus had been given to the motions 
of the clans, especially those of Tyrone and Armagh. The 
whole country was in motion, and everywhere groups of men 
were seen with lowering brows and moody looks discussing some 
subject that seemed strangely to excite them. Weapons, too, 
were being whetted, and bows were newly strung, and the long 
javelins of tough mountain ash used with such tremendous effect 
by the Irish spearmen were everywhere seen in a forward state 
of preparation. The strangest thing of all was that there was 
no Information to be got as to the cause of this sudden commo- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


235 


tion. la, the border countries, on the outskirts of Ulster, the 
people seemed not to know : they had heard of a great rising 
to take place when Owen Roe got back from Kilkenny ; nearer 
home, there was word of some strange event that had come like 
a thunderbolt on the half-awakened clans and roused them to 
sudden fury. What had taken place no one could exactly tell, 
but it was something very terrible, as every one said, and at last 
it assumed the vague, though palpable form of “ another black 
deed of the Sassums or Albinachs.*” 

“ But what — what is it 

“ Oh ! the sorra one of me knows — aren’t they always at some 
devilment or another — but they say this was past the common, 
and the men are all on for a great battle as soon as the general 
comes home — Lord send him safe to us ! — I don’t know what 
they’re about up the country, but we want him badly here !” 

Owen Roe smiled at those who were with him on hearing this 
from an ancient dame but a few miles from Charlemont. “ Me- 
thinks,” said he, “ they are all bent on keeping us in the dark — 
but hark ! is not that the distant sound of wailing — ay ! is it — 
loud and many-voiced ! — ride on, my men, for my heart tells me 
that some evil thing hath befallen our poor people !” 

The same excitement was visible all through the country as 
the travellers now dashed along at full speed, but Owen Roe 
asked no further questions, till, reaching the banks of the Black- 
water, a short distance from the castle, where he intended to 
cross, he encountered a party of the Rapparees with Florry 
Muldoon at their head, marching on foot in the direction of old 
Benburb. A hearty cheer of welcome burst from the brave fel- 
lows as they recognized the general. 

“ Now, at least, we shall hear all,” said Owen, and accosting 
Florry, he demanded what it was that had set the country all in 
a blaze. 

“ The old story, general,” said the old Rapparee with a kin- 
dling eye; “ the Scotch devils, finding you and Sir Phelim and 
most of the chiefs away, broke in on us and carried off the cat- 
tle and — and ” 


* The Gflelic nnnie for the Scotch. 


23G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ And what else 1 Did they kill any one T* 

“ Well ! and to be sure they did— the murdering villians, to 
be sure they did — when did they ever come and go among us 
without shedding blood— och wirra ! wirra ! wirra I” 

“ But did they do much harm this time V asked Owen with 
some strange presentiment knocking at his heart. 

“ It’s as well for you ask no more questions, general dear,” 
said the well-known voice of Donogh, “ you’ll know it all before 
long, and sorrow is time enough' when it comes. Away with 
you, Florry, and get them pikes from O’Flanagan if he has them 
ready. We’ll be wanting them now, please God, when once the 
general’s home again. Don’t come back without them, and tell 
him I said so !” 

“ Kevenge ! revenge !” shouted the woodsmen ; “ blood for 
blood !” 

“ I tell you it’s at hand now,” said their young leader; “ be 
off and do as I bid you, and you’ll have it all the sooner.” 

“ In God’s name what is the meaning of all this 1” said O’Neill, 
as the Rapparees marched away obedient to the last stern com- 
mand. “ Here I find the country all astir — I am told darkly 
of cruel murders and robbery and what not, yet no man seemeth 
willing to give me much knowledge anent the mishap whatever 
it be !” 

Why, the short and the long of it is, general,” said the 
young man in a perturbed voice, “ Stewart came in at one side 
on us and Cole at the other, about ten days agone, and, thinking 
they’d have it all their own way, they killed and destroyed what- 
ever came under their hands, and although we poor wood-kern 
peppered them well at times when we got them in detachments 
here or there, or wherever their numbers were of no use to 
them, still the devils made good their point and fieeced the coun- 
try right and left — ay ! and took some precious lives, too — but 
they did one deed at last that brought vengeance on them swift 
and sure, and drove them back to their lair again.” 

“ And what was that I” 

“ Come with me to Benburb, an’ you be not over tired, and 
you will know all !” 

“ Tired !” said Owen, “ why, an’ I were hardly able to sit my 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


237 


horse I would go to have this mystery solved. What say you 
friends and comrades T’ 

Most of those with him were followers or adherents, and all 
declared themselves willing to go, so turning their horses’ heads, 
on they dashed in the wake of Donogh, who had jumped on a 
horse that was grazing hy the river side, and, without saddle or 
bridle, kept his place in the van of the flying cavalcade. 

The wintry day was drawing to a close when they reached 
Benburb, and the deepening gloom of evening was settling cold 
and cheerless around the old castle, but as Owen glanced upwards 
' at its frowning walls, a light suddenly appeared through one of 
the narrow loop-holes, and the chieftain rubbed his eyes and 
looked again, for, to his knowledge, no living thing was within 
the ruined fortress. 

“ Donogh!” said he, “ do mine eyes deceive me^ or is that a 
light in the castle up yonder 1" 

“ Indeed, then, it is, general, and look if there be not a green 
flag on the top. Well! myself didn’t see ihai before — they got 
some of the boys to put it up, expecting the general’s return,” 
lie musingly said, partly to himself, “ but, come in. General 
O’Neill ! and you’ll find one to read your riddle !” 

The old stone staircase leading upward.! from the hall wns 
still, if not perfect, at least passable ; and a stream of laint, 
flickering light from above made its rugged steps dimly visible 
through the yawning darkness of the hall beneath. A stillness 
like that of death brooded over the dreary spot, and many a 
stout heart would have feared — 

“ To tempt the dangerous gloom,” 

but Owen Roe, undeterred by the utter wildness and desolation 
of the scene, was only the more anxious to penetrate the mys- 
tery so suddenly connected wdtli the old castle of his ancestors. 

“ Whither now V’ said he in a whisper to Donogh, but the 
whisper, low as it was. awoke the echoes of the long-deserted 
□all. 

“ Up — up, general ! — only yourself, though, and me to show 
you the wav.” 

“ By my father’s grave, Captain Donogh,” said a fiery young 


238 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


follower of the chief, “ you do take us coolly — think you we came 
so far from our road to see or hear nothing, and stand shivering, 
moreover, in tire cold frosty air, among ghosts and goblins, and 
all such things, till mayhap it’s encbanted we’d be ourselves ?” 

“ Never mind, Shane, my boy,” whispered the Kapparee in a 
soothing tone, for he heard most of the others grumbling in like 
manner, though not so loudly, “ we’ll give you the front rank 
some of these days, and that will be more pleasing to you than 
what you’d see up yonder, for, God he knoweth, it is a pitiful 
si2ht !” 

Meanwhile Owen had made his way up the rough, moss-grown 
staircase, his long sword clattering as he went, and the plume 
on his hat dancing with every step. Reaching the top, he stood 
still transfixed, as it were, with wonder, we may not say affright. 

A scene was before him which he never forgot, never could for- 
get, till his dying day. At the farther end of the large square 
chamber on a couch made of straw and mountain heather piled 
to some height, lay a sheeted corpse, stiff*, and wan, and ghastly 
in the light of three small tapers placed at the head. Close by 
knelt a female figure wrapped in a dark-colored mantle, the 
folds of which could not conceal the exquisite symmetry and 
graceful outline of the form within. There was beauty, too, and 
grace in the bowed head and the clasped hands and the statue- 
like repose of the whole figure. Around, like so many enchanted 
beings, were a dozen or so of women of all ages, some kneeling, 
some squatted on the fiagged floor, but all rocking to and fro 
' after the manner of Irish mourners, and each telling her beads 
devoutly. At the foot of the death-couch stood Angus Dhu, his 
arms folded and his tearful eyes fixed on the corpse. No sound 
from below had disturbed the mourners, and Owen’s exclamation 
of wonder was the first intimation they got of other presence ^ 
than their own. 

“ Mary. Mother !” cried the chieftain, “ who have we here T’ 
— and his voice trembled with a nameless tear. 

“ The general !” said Angus joyfully — the women clapped 
their hands, and all but shouted for joy — the kneeling figure 
stood up and turned towads O’Neill — it was Judith O’Cahan ! 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


239 


CHAPTER XX. 

“ Murder itself is past all expiation, 

The greatest crime that nature doth abhor.” 

Goffe. 

” Treason and murder ever bept together, 

As two ycke-devils sworn to each ather’s purpose ” 

Shakespeare. 

There was no stormy outburst of grief, no outward sign of 
emotion on the part of Judith as she and O’Neill stood again 
face to face. Indeed Owen of the two betrayed the most agita- 
tion, as, pointing to the corpse, he said ; ” She is gone, then, 
Judith r’ 

” Even so, general ! the hunted hare hath found rest at last, 
and I am motherless.” 

” But how — when 1 what caused her death P’ 

“ The bayonets of Stewart’s soldiers,” said Judith with pre- 
ternatural calmness, and a stern compression of the lips that 
showed a gush of feeling welling up within ; ” eight days ago they 
gave her her death, but the breath was in her till yesternoon ” 

“Queen of Heaven! Judith O’Cahan,” cried Owen O’Neill 
starting and changing color, “ how is this 1 Did the Sassums 
murder your mother I” ' 

“ I have said it !” 

“ But where — how 1” 

Judith made an effort to speak, then raised her hand to her 
forehead and pressed it hard, hard. 

“ An’ your ladyship will give me leave,” said Angus Dhu, 
“ I will tell the general how it was” — Judith nodded and he went 
on : “ You were only a day or two gone, general, when the old 
lady. Heavens be her bed I took a notion that her end wasn t far 
oflf, and nothing would please her till we went and brc ught her 


210 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


the priest. She got going to her duty, thank God, and so 
did every one in the Castle when they had the chance, not know- 
ing in these days when their hour might come — after that her 
ladyship got the greatest strength ever you seen for a start, and 
what did she take into her head but that she must go and die 
in her own oM Castle of Dungiven. Well, sure, nobody w'ould 
make so free as to laugh at her, hut the lady Judith here did 
all she could to get her persuaded not to leave Charlemont where 
she was safe and well cared for. But she might as well talk to 
the winds, go to Dungiven the old madam would, for she hadn’t 
many days to live, she said, and she couldn’t die in peace any- 
where else. Well ! after that, general, no one could say again 
her, so Manus O’Neill that you left in charge at the Castle, got 
a kind of a litter made for the two ladies, and sent a score or so 
of horsemen with them — our captain wanted to send a party of 
his own boys with them but Manus wouldn’t hear of it, and away 
they all went — vo ! vo! they did, but — but they never reached 
Dungiven, for before they had crossed the county march — with 
Tyrone heather still under their horses’ feet — they fell in with a 
troop of Stewart’s cavalry and — and ” 

“And what'?” 

“ And your brave clansmen were most all cut to pieces trying 
to keep the ladies from falling into the hands of the scarlet devils, 
and old madam was stabbed in two or three places, and if her 
ladyship here to the fore wasn’t murdered, too, it was because 
the ofl&cer kept telling his bloody crew to take her alive, and not 
to harm her or he’d have their lives ” 

“ And because, Angus, the Rapparees were upon them before 
they could finish their work — you forgot that, my good lad — but 
I have not forgotten that I owe you and Donogh, and the other 
brave fellows who were with you, more, a thousand times more, 
than my life.” 

“ Speak not of it, lady !” said the youth modestly ; “ our cap- 
tain did but keep on your track, fearing lest your escort might 
not be sufficient — it was God that brought us there and your 
good angel 1” 

“ And what did you, Angus '?” said O’Neill turning quickly. 

“ Well, general ! if we weren’t in time to save the old madam, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


241 


we did the next best, I’m tliinking. We sent the villains home 
with a dead officer instead of a live one, and made them less by 
a dozen or so ” 

“ And 3 ourselves 1” The youth’s countenance fell, and he 
remained silent. 

“ Alas ! general,” said Judith son'owfully, “ they paid dearly 
enough for their victory — they laid O’Boyle and two more of 
their best men in Eglish mould next day, side by side with the 
brave O’Neills who like them fell in our defence ! — oh ! mother ! 
mother !” she said, turning passionately to the corpse, “ what a 
heavy woe came of your w^ayward wish !” 

“ But why, why came you hither T’ demanded Owen. Why 
not return to Charlemont I” 

“ Because,” said Judith, “ I saw that the hand of death was 
on my mother, and I took her here to die where solitude and 
desolation were around us like unto mine* own heart.” 

There was another reason which Judith kept to herself, but 
which the keen glance of Owen Roe read in her downcast eye 
and the faint flush on her worn cheek. She could not with pro- 
priety have remained alone in the garrison, so she conveyed her 
dying parent to the tenantless mansion of Benburb, and the 
Bran tree women came to keep her company and “ do what they 
could for the old madam.” Their services were not long re- 
quired on behalf of the aged widow of O’Cahan. Death released 
her from her sufferings, and they had but to render the last solemn 
duties to her corpse, and watch and pray with the mourner 
whom her death left alone in the world. 

There was a burning glow on O’Neill’s cheek as he listened to 
this piteous tale, but he made no show of anger. When all was 
told he turned and looked at the corpse, lying there so calm ami 
still after such a life of storm, with the nobleness of her origin 
clearly stamped on her marble-like features, and the ring that, 
had bound her to O'Cahan still glittering on the shrunken hand 
stretched by her side in the rigidity of death ; he thought of llio 
wild July storm, and the ruined dwelling, and the strange meet- 
ing ; he remembered that the lips now cold in death before him 
had pronounced his first welcome to his fatherland, and a whiil- 
21 


242 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


wind of feeling rushed upon his 'soul, and, sinking on one knee, 
he bowed his head on his hand and murmured : 

May Heaven be propitious to you, noble daughter of Ma- 
guire, sorrowful widow of O’Cahan! — dark were your latter 
years on earth, and mournful was your end ! What things I 
^ had planned for your behoof it boots not now to tell — you aro 
better, I trust, than I could make you, and with that hope I 
must needs rest content, since nought remaineth for me to do. 
As a Christian man I may not think of revenge — the arm that is 
raised to smite your murderers must do it from other, holier 
motives. Oh ! would that you had known how I longed to right 
your wrongs ! would that I had done aught to serve you !” 

“ An’ that be your wish,” said Judith, “ be consoled — my 
mother, feeble as her mind had grown, knew well what were 
your intentions in her regard — the hope of seeing you before 
life departed from her did keep her spirit, I verily believe, some 
days in the flesh, and her last wish is for you to carry out ” 

“ Name it !” 

“ It relates to the disposal of her remains,” said Judith, and 
lowering her voice almost to a whisper she repeated the solemn 
charge which, as it happened, involved both trouble and danger, 
and so Judith remarked. 

“ It shall be done,” said the chieftain in a faltering voice, for 
he was touched by the trust reposed in him by the honored dead. 

“ Those of her own kin,” resumed Judith, “ she might not ask 
to do this thing, seeing that it is not her will to rest amongst 
them.” 

Before any more had passed a great commotion was heard on 
the stairs, and Sir Phelim O’Neill suddenly appeared at the top. 
Some of his followers, seeking to force their way after him, were 
seized on the stairs by those below and set on their feet outside 
the door, “ forsooth when we were kept down here freezing in 
the dark, you shall not mount without our master’s leave.’' 

Being fewer they had to submit, and Sir Phelim, at the mo- 
ment, took little note of what was passing behind him. Striding 
across the room, he looked first at the corpse, then at Judith, 
then at Owen Roe, and some mighty torrent of passion seemed 
gathering to burst forth. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


243 


“ I heard of this,” said he, many miles from here, but 1 
could not enter my house until I had seen it with my own eyes. 
And so they killed her, J udith 1 — they killed that old, venerable 
woman with the snows of seventy winters on her head, and the 
grandeur of her princely line stamped on her aged face. They 
killed her — did they not T’ 

“ Sir Phelim, they did !” 

The hot blood rushed to the knight’s face and his whole 
frame shook with stormy anger. Grasping the hilt of his sword 
with a sort of convubive motion, he made as though he would 
sheath it in some one’s flesh on the instant, but quickly with- 
drawing his hand, he turned suddenly and seized his kinsman 
by the shoulder. 

“ Owen Mac Art !” he cried, “ can you stand this 1” 

“ No better, it may be, than you,” said Owen with forced 
composure. 

“ I have been your enemy, Owen, I tell you plainly,” said the 
impetuous knight, “ but for the dear sake of revenge — revenge 
for this foul murder, not to speak of all the others — I will join 
you heart and hand — by the Great——” 

“Hush! hush!” said Owen eagerly, “ swear not at all — an’ 
your word be not sufficient, your oath would give me no greater 
security. I believe you, and will gladly accept your aid !” 

“ By the Mass, then, Owen, we’ll not leave an old hag of 
their sort in the seven parishes with whole bones in her' skin !” 

“ For shame. Sir Phelim ! for shame,” said Owen sternly ; 
“ what had their old women to do with the death of Lady 
O’Cahan 1 — I never yet harmed woman or child, nor will I begin 
now when I battle for God and the right ! ’ 

“Well! well! no need to quarrel about it — you’ll have your 
way, and I mine, but wee’ll pull together anyhow.” 

’ “ I accept your alliance on no such terms,” said Owen ; “ there 

hath been over much of this bloody retaliation even on our side 
since the war commenced, and I tell you I will never stain my 
sword with such foul murder, nor will I connive at it in others.” 

“By the — ahem ! by the boot, Owen, you are too squeamish 
by half — these bloody-minded foreigners will have the best of 
it, take my word, an’ you make war in that fashion. Let us be 


244 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


friends, nevertheless, for the sake of her who lieth there stiff 
and stark — united we can do much, divided less than nothing.” 

“ It is well. Sir Phelim !” said Ovven with emotion, and he 
reached his hand to his kinsman, who gave it such a shake as 
though he meant to wrench it from the arm. 

“ Now, Judith,” said the knight, “ seeing that matter settled* 
I would know what is to he done in regard to your mother’s 
interment.” 

“ Nought have I to say on that head,” she replied coldly; “ it 
is already provided for. ’ 

“ Ay, it is ever thus,” said Sir Phelim, bitterly, “ wdiatsoever 
I do is displeasing to you, and even death itself cannot win a 
civil word for me— I shame to see the widow of O’Cahaij laid 
out in this ruinous place, long tenanted only by bats and owls, 
and such like, and I marvel at you, her daughter, that you do 
take the matter so coolly — I call God to witness that the fault 
resteth on your own shoulders, and no ways on mine, seeing 
that my Castle of Kinnard, or any other house whereof I am 
master, hath been at your disposal.” 

Sir Phelim, I am a-weary of your presence,” said Judith^ 
haughtily ; “ this house is mine, in that I have borrowed it of the 
O’Neill,” bowing to Owen, “ for my present necessity — I pray 
you leave me alone with my dead and her mourners !” 

The thunder-cloud that instantly gathered on Phelim’§ brow 
was dispelled by the calm good sense of Owen, who, although 
well aware that Judith’s uncivil hint was not meant for him, 
' nevertheless appeared to take it so, and, seizing his kinsman by 
the arm, he said : 

“ The Lady Judith is right, Sir Phelim ! — this be no place for 
rough soldiers — men such as we — let us go hence — there is a cer- 
tain matter whereof I would treat with you in private !” 

“ I will bury her as becometh" her blood, were it but to spite 
you,” said Plielim shaking his - fist at Judith with as much ve- 
hemence as though he meant to strike Irer; “ see that you play 
me no trick in this matter, or, by the soul of Ileremon ! I will 
make you rue it !” 

A smile of defiance was Judith’s sole answer, and, taking 
leave of her only by a look, Owen drew the angry knight away^ 


THE CONFEDERATE' CHIEFTAINS. 


245 


not, however, until both had knelt and offered up a silent Pater 
and Ave for the repose of the parted soul. As the two chief- 
tains retired, the wild death-song of the women, interrupted by 
their appearance, was again renewed. 

On the second day after that, a funeral procession, grand and 
solemn as the chieftains of Tyr-Owen could make it, set forth 
from the Castle of Benburb. Owen and Phelim were both there 
with their respective followers, all well mounted and armed to 
the teeth, in preparation for any sudden assault. It was a 
goodly array of the Kinel-Owen, and the hero of Arras might 
well be pardoned if he looked on them with eyes of pride. The 
corpse of the Lady O’Cahan was placed on a sort of bier with 
wheels, drawn by four coal-black horses. Eight women in dark- 
colored cloaks and hoods sat on either side of the coffin keening 
their low mournful strain, descriptive of the nobleness and vir- 
tue of the dead, the long line of chieftains from whom she 
sprang, and the woes that had made her latter days evil. Then 
changing their tone they would tell how the fierce Alhinach 
shed her blood, and how many curses would fall on his seven 
generations for that foul deed. Now low, and sad, and tender, 
now loud, and wild, and stirring as a trumpet’s voice, that wail re’ 
sounded along the hill-sides, and through the valleys of Tyr- 
Owen, and the people, as they heard it, came forth on the road 
sides to see who it was that was thus passing to “ the lone place 
of tombs,” and, seeing the two chieftains, and the mounted cav- 
alcade, and the lady so pale and so beautiful borne by four stout 
gallowglasses on a litter close behind the corpse, they said to 
each other, “ some great one of the old blood is departed,” and 
falling on their knees, they offered up a fervent prayer for that 
soul’s welfare. And Judith cast a gracious look on these pious 
supplicants, for dearly did she prize their orisons on behalf of 
the dead. 

At length the mournful procession approached the confines of 
Derry, and soon from the ancient country of O’Cahan crowtls of 
stalwart mountaineers came hurrying down, eager to assist at 
the funeral of the so-lately forlorn widow of their chief. Word 
had been sent thither by Owen Roe, apprising the O’Cahans of 
the mournful event, and, knowing the manner of their aged 


24G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


lady’s death, they approached with a wild and vengeful cry, 
each bearing on his right arm some band of a reddish color, the 
well-known symbol of revenge. 

“ Peace to her soul,” they cried, “ the white-handed daughter 
of Maguire, Eveleen of , the silver cords, beloved of the valiant 
O’Cahan ! Welcome, daughter of Brian ! sorrowful daughter of 
princes! Welcome to the land that in right is yours I” and 
Judith bowed her stately head in token of her thanks. 

There is not on Irish ground a scene of more solemn or ro- 
mantic interest than the old Abbey Church of Dungiven — seated 
on a bold projecting rock full two hundred feet above the beau- 
tiful Koe, which there rushes down with the force of a cataract. 
“ Here everything disposes to seriousness and meditation ; the 
grandeur of the mountains, the ascending sound of the torrent 
beneath, the repose of the place, its seclusion from little things, 
and the awful monuments of mortality around it — it is a scene 
which contemplation must love, and devotion may claim as pe- 
culiarly her own.”* 

Honor to the memory of “ the monks of old,” whose ad- 
mirable taste selected such sites for religious seclusion, and honor 
to the chiefs who established and maintained them there.f The 
splendor of Dungiven Abbey has passed away, and the old Augus- 
tinians who peopled its cloisters, and the chieftains who wielded 
the sword in their defence, lie mingled in the dust of the tomb 
around the sacred walls, but the memories of both are cluster- 
ing like shadows amid the old arches, and long after the last 
vestiges of the building shall have passed away, their faith and 
their piety, and their munificent charity shall continue to shed a 
halo round the beautiful but lonely spot. 

To this old Abbey Church it was that the remains of the aged 
Lady 0 Cahan were conveyed on that bleak wintry day amid the 
spears and battle-axes of the bold clansmen of the north, and 
the mournful sound of the pipes, and the wailing of the keeners. 

Who that knows aught of the O’Cahans has not heard of 

* Rev. Mr. Rosa’s Statistical Survey. 

t The Abbey of Dungiven was founded for Augustinian monks, about 
the year 1100, by a chief of the O’Cahans. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


24T 


Cooey-na-gall^ the greatest that ever bore that name, and the 
terror of the invader, as his surname implies Well! in the 
chancel-wall of old Dungiven Church there is a tomb of rare 
beauty, a grand old Gothic monument, erected by his clan to the 
memory of that illustrious chief, and there it was that Eveleen 
Maguire, the destitute widow of the last O’Cahan, had com- 
manded her mortal part to be deposited. It was a strange 
thought of the old woman, but her daughter and the chieftain 
who carried out her wish were at no loss to understand it, and 
so they laid her with Honor in the most honored grave of her 
adopted people, even the tomb of Cooey-na-gall. For ages long 
it had not been opened, and the six grim warriors sculptured on 
its front had kept watch undisturbed over the death sleep of 
the chief. Now when the secrets of the venerated tomb were 
again laid bare, and the day-beam penetrated for a few brief 
moments to that dark recess within the chancel-wall, a strange 
feeling of awe crept over the beholders, and men peered, curious- 
ly yet fearfully, too, over each other’s shoulders, hoping to catch 
a glimpse of the bones of the renowned hero. Owen Roe and 
Sir Phelim stood in front, and by an involuntary impulse the 
former sank on his knee the moment the tomb was laid open. 
All present followed his example, and his fervent ejaculation of 
“ Peace to the honored dead !” was responded to by the multi- 
tude in an “ Amen,” like the voice of the torrent beneath. 

At this moment an old, gray-haired man made his way through 
the crow'd, and a cry of joy escaped the O’Cahans. 

“ It is Father Phelimy 1 It is Father Pheiimy— glory be to 
God, he’s just in time 1” 

The old man approached the coffin where it was laid in front 
of the tomb ready to be lifted in, and J udith, when she saw him, 

* Cooeyy or Cumaighe, (in English Quintin) na-gall O'Cahan, the 
chieftain above referred to, was so named on account of his valiant 
exploits against the early English invaders— the words Cooey-na-gall 
signifying “ the greyhound of the plain, hunter of the foreigner.” 
The death of this renowned warrior is recorded in the Annals of the 
Four Masters thus : “ 1365. Cumaighe O’Kane, Lord of Oireacht-na- 
Cathain, died at the pinnacle of wealth an d_ celebrity.” 


248 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


arose from her knees beside it, and extending her hand to him, 
burst into tears — they were tears of joy, and murmured, “ Thanks 
be to God !” 

A blessing was on the old man’s lips as he drew from an inner 
pocket a sadly dilapidated volume, and commenced reciting the 
burial-service of the Church. 

“ I will say some Masses for her when I can.” he whispered to 
Judith as he closed the book ; “ and now, my children, give dust 
to dust, and lay Eveleen Maguire in that tomb which no man 
again shall open from this day ever. ‘ Blessed are the dead who 
die in the Lord,’ and, furthermore, ‘ Blessed are they that mourn 
for they shall be comforted,’ and again, ‘ Blessed are they who 
suffer persecution for justice’ sake,’ and even so didst thou, widow 
of Brian O’Cahan ! Even to the death wert thou persecuted, 0 
woman of heavy sorrows, but assuredly great is thy reward in 
heaven, yea, even the reward which awaiteth those who suffer 
and are sorrowful for Christ’s dear name ! Requiescat in pace ! 
daughter and wife of the noble ! well hast thou chosen thy 
resting-place with the glory of my hapless race !” 

The coffin was placed within the tomb, the quaintly-carved 
stones were again replaced, no sigh or sob from Judith giving 
token of what she felt, the crowd left the Church, and only the 
two chiefs, the old priest, and the bereaved daughter remained. 

“ Now,” said Judith, drawing herself to the full height of her 
tall stature, and gathering her cloak around her with statue-like 
grace, “ now I am alone in the world, I shall henceforth live for 
my country and my creed ! — revenge I name not, but my mo- 
ther’s murderers are also my country’s tyrants — to compass 
their fall shall be the end and object of my life ! Uncle of my 
father!” addressing the priest, “for the present I claim an asy- 
lum of you!” 

“ Alas ! poor child,” the old man murmured with a heavy sigh, 
‘ would that I had a fitting one to offer thee ! — thou knowest I 
am myself on keeping amongst the faithful clansmen of o«r 
house !” 

“ I know it, my reverend father,” said Judith in her decided 
ivay, “but, where thou findest shelter, I will not be rejected, 
and so I say unto thee as Ruth said to Noemi in the days of old : 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


249 


‘ Whithersoever thou shalt go, i will go, and where thou shalt 
dwell, I also will dwell.’ God sent you hither when least I 
hoped to see you, and your presence is protection for the lonely 
daughter of your nephew !’ 

“ Be it so, then,” said the aged priest with a wan smile, and 
he took her hand within his own; “ my dwelling is on the hills 
amongst the faithful wood-kern, hut, woe is me ! I know that 
kind of life is noUiing new to thee. Poor, poor child!** he 
fondly murmured, “ hapless daughter of princes I — homeless, 
houseless lady of the land 1” 

“ Thou wilt not then harbor with my mother'?” demanded Sir 
Phelim, in a rougher tone even than his wont, for the heart within 
him was softened by the pitiful scene, and he would fain con- 
ceal his emotion. 

Judith shook her head, and the knight muttering some wrath- 
ful words between his teeth, turned on his heel and strode away. 

What passed between the three thus left together is not for 
us to tell ; suffice it, that during their brief colloquy, things 
of high import to the national cause were treated of, and it may 
be that Judith did not conceal from the great leader the plans 
which she had formed for her future guidance, for when, at 
length, she quitted the old Church, supporting her aged relative 
rather than receiving support from him, Owen O’Neill murmured 
to himself as he stood looking after their retiring figures : 

“ There be more in that maiden’s head than some of our 
wisest could fathom — I would we had a score or so of men with 
heart and brain like hers to head our columns !” 

He turned to take a parting look at the tomb which now con- 
tained his staunch old friend, and as the tumultuous cheers which 
greeted the appearance of Judith and the priest fell on his ear 
from without, he sighed as his eye rested on the stony figure of 
Cooey-na-gall lying so still and motionless on the tomb where it 
had lain for centuries ; he thought of the mouldering bones he 
had seen within, and he said in a half audible voice : 

“ Such is earthly glory ! — great wert thou in thy generation, 
oh! warrior of the hills, Q’Cahan of many steeds! but what art 
thou now — what remaineth of all thy glory 1 Alas ! alas ! sie 
transit gloria mundiT 


250 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


His brief soliloquy was suddenly interrupted by a wild and 
vengeful cry from without the churchyard where Sir Phelim and 
those of the Kinel-Ovven awaited his coming. Hastening to seo 
what the matter was, Owen found Donogh and a small party of 
his Rapparees newly arrived, their smoking steeds showing how 
hard they had ridden. Sir Phelim stood with his hand on tho 
neck of Donogh’s horse, looking eagerly up in the young man’s 
face, while as near as the presence of that dreaded chief permit- 
ted, crowded the clansmen around — listening to the news the 
Rapparees brought. And little wonder that their faces grew 
dark as they listened, and that Phelim’s broad chest heaved 
tumultuously, for Owen himself, with all his long-practised self- 
control could scarcely repress his indignation. 

The tale, when told over for the general’s ear, gave another 
pretty picture of Scottish treachery, only less revolting in its 
way, than the massacre of Island Magee. 

Leaving Donogh to tell the tale in his own way, we may as 
well give the reader an idea of what had taken place. 

At the extreme northern point of the Irish coast on an insular 
rock, separated from the mainland by a yawning chasm, through 
which the ocean wave dashes with fearful violence, stood the* 
ancient Castle of Dunluce, at the time of which we write, owned 
by the Marquis of Antrim, a Catholic nobleman, who had mar- 
ried a short time before the widow of the notorious Villiers, 
Duke of Buckingham. This Marquis of Antrim, Randal McDon- 
nell by name, being a Catholic, and somewhat of a favorite 
with King Charles, was an object of dislike and suspicion 
to the Lords Justices and the Puritan leaders in Ireland, but 
Randal had hitherto given them no handle for -compassing his 
ruin, living quietly at home in his castle on the rock well con- 
tent, it would seem, to let others alone if they let him alone. 
He was himself what is called a pleasant fellow, his wife a right 
merry and witty dame, and being such they generally contrived 
to have a pleasant company gathered about them. Their house- 
hold was, accordingly, a gay and racketing one, and in a round 
of amusement passed the days and the nights cheerily over tho 
inmates of Dunluce Castle. The echo of the strife raging 
through the island was spent before it reached that wild north- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


251 


ern shore, and to the shame of Randal McDonnell he it said, 
he gave himself little concern as to which of the contending 
parties had the best of it so long as he and his were free to 
“ eat, drink, and be merry” in far Dunluce. 

It happened on a day that Monroe the Scottish general sent 
word to the Marquis of Antrim, “ whose loyalty,” he said, “ stood _ 
well approved,” that having been scouring the neighborhood for 
some days in search of the rebels, the which had cunningly 
evaded his pursuit, so that he could not by any means come upon 
them, he would, with the noble lord’s permission, stop for 
refreshment at his Castle of Dunluce, nothing fearing of treach- 
ery from a nobleman so highly esteemed for loyalty and all good 
behavior as my lord of Antrim. 

Well pleased was “ my lord of Antrim” and his gay Dowager 
Duchess by this distinguished compliment, and to work they 
went with right good will to make all things agreeable to the 
Scotch general and his officers during their stay, and provide 
them with suitable entertainment. 

The numerous retainers of the Marquis were drawn up in 
imposing array in the courtyard to receive the military visitors, 
and it may be that the smiling host began to feel somewhat un- 
comfortable to see that the latter far outnumbered his own peo- 
ple, and were altogether as grim-looking a set as ever his eyes 
looked on. As he stood observing them while they crossed the 
narrow drawbridge two and two, he wished in his heart that he 
had manfully declined receiving Monroe’s visit, but the wish 
came all too late if danger was really to be apprehended, which 
as yet Randal was slow to believe. 

The fears and misgivings were of short duration when once 
the light-hearted Marquis entered upon his duties as a host, 
and, to all appearance, his cordial welcome was duly appreciated 
ly his guests. The banquet was spread, and ample justice 
done to the good things prepared, and even the black-visaged 
Puritans seemed to have lost somewhat of their gloomy morose- 
ness in the genial influence of the hour, when, all at once, 
Monroe stood up and slapped one hand against the other with 
a sound that rang through the large hall. His men were on 
their feet in an instant. 


252 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Arrest that man and all his househould !” said Monroe point- 
ing to the M-arquis, and notwithstanding threats, promises, and 
persuasions, it was done instantaneously. Within an hour the 
Marquis and his family were sent prisoners to Carrickfergus, and 
the castle rifled by the Puritan soldiers was immediately taken 
possession of for a garrison. 

Monroe never laughed, but the capture of McDonnel and his 
impregnable Castle was ever after related in his grave style as a 
capital joke, and one of the most notable acts of his life. 

Such was the tale told by Donogh, who had been up in those 
parts, as he said himself, “ on a little business of his own.” Tho 
effect of the narrative on the hearers may easily be conceived, 
coupled with the brutal murder which had so lately convulsed 
the country with rage and horror. 



253 


■THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

“ And when the eannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wide wreaths the battle-shrcud, 

And gory sabres rise and fall, 

Like sheets of flame in midnight pall.” 

Drake 

” True fortitude is seen in great exploits 
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides ; 

All else is towering frenzy and distraction.” 

Addison’s Cato, 

After the stirring events recorded in our last chapter, it was 
confidently expected that General O’Neill would gather his forces 
together, and, availing himself of the popular excitement, make 
one grand effort to clear the province of the hated Scotch 
marauders, who were preying on its very vitals. But, to the 
surprise, and, indeed, disappointment of all, he quietly went on 
mustering and drilling and exercising his battalions, with the 
aid of the officers who had accompanied him from Flanders. In 
vain did Sir Phelim storm and rage, and pitch the “ drilling” to 

the d 1, as he did full fifty times a day — in vain did the 

chieftains of Breffhy and Uriel, and the young Tanist of Fer- 
managh, urge him to more active measures, alleging that if they 
were gathering strength by delay, so also were the Puritans. 
Owen was still immovable, close and dark with regard to his 
own views, yet not unwilling to hear what others had to say. 
And yet the news from the other provinces was of the most 
stirring kind ; skirmishing was going on in every quarter, with 
varying success, but on the whole the Confederate armies were 
gaining on their adversaries. In Connaught, Sir John Burke 
had striven so successfully since his appointment that, in the 
face ot Clanrickarde’s covert opposition, and the utmost exer- 


254 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


tions of the whole government party, he had reduced the Lord 
President Ranelagh, with Coote and some other generals, to fly 
the province, and make for the capital in search of the supplies 
wherewith the dilatory Lords Justices had failed to provide them 
in time. Preston in Leinster had taken the strong town of 
Birr, not to speak of lesser conquests, while Barry in Munster 
had driven Inchiquin to take refuge with his forces, and what 
provisions they could secure on the way, within the walls of 
Cork, Kinsale and Youghal. Lord Broghill, too, was shut up 
with a small force in Cappoquin, so that the affairs of the enemy 
seemed in a desperate condition in the three provinces. Why 
was it, then, that Ulster alone was backward, and, to all appear- 
ance, inactive, when such a golden opportunity seemed to present 
itself 1 

“ Why is it, I ask you again P’ said Sir Phelim, angrily strik- 
ing the table around which Owen had gathered a few of the 
chiefs in Charlemont Castle. 

“ Because,” said Owen, speaking somewhat more freely than 
was his wont, “ because Ulster hath suffered overmuch already 
from rash, ill-considered measures. Ay ! even to become the 
laughing-stock of the sister provinces, for the great flourish made 
at the start, and the little wool gathered after so much noise. 
When the Ulster army takes the fleld again, I would have it such 
as to turn the scale of victory. I mean to give it the title of the 
Catholic army, the which, being a proud distinction, must needs 
be proudly sustained. Let our good friends in the upper pro- 
vinces stand their ground a little longer, as it seems they are 
well able to do, and when we come to their succor we can deal 
the enemy such a blow as he may not recover !” 

Some of the chieftains present were convinced by Owen’s 
reasoning, marvelling the while at his consummate coolness, 
but Sir Phelim was only the more incensed, and could hardly 
keep from expressing his contempt. 

“ Truly,” said he with much bitterness, “ the Lady Judith hath 
cause to be proud of her champion— an’ she had taken me for 
her liege-man, her mother’s murder were bloodily avenged be- 
fore now. If O’Cahau’s blood be in her veins she will spurn 
you like a dog.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


255 


“ Have a care whai you say, Phelim,” said Owen hastily ; 
“ you may stretch endurance so far that even I may have patience 
no longer. As for the lady on whom your tongue doth run so 
glibly, I am well assured that she hath more understanding of 
this matter than you, and albeit that I am not ‘ the liege-man’ 
of any woman breathing, I respect her too much to hear her 
name bandied at will — even by my valorous cousin. I pray you, 
therefore, to discourse in such wise as becometh a soldier, with- 
out dragging in names or things foreign to our subject.” 

“ Ho ! ho !” laughed the incorrigible knight ; “ I warrant me, 
you will hear more of it than you relish from the respected lady 
herself.” 

Owen thought of the Church of Dungiven and Judith’s mas- 
terly counsel, and he smiled. His smile was gall and wormwood 
to Phelim, and he bit his lip till the blood almost showed. The 
fierce sarcasm hovering on his lip was choked in its birth by the 
arrival of a courier with dispatches for the general from Sir J ohn 
Netterville. 

With eager haste Owen broke the seal and read, the others 
watching his countenance with painful anxiety. He had not 
read far when his brow darkened and his ruddy cheek grew 
pale. 

“ 111 news, my friends,” he said, looking up with a troubled 
expression, “ Preston hath encountered a heavy mishap.” 

“ How 1 — where 1 — when P’ cried the listeners all in a breath. 

“ At Rathconnell, in the county of Westmeath. As ill luck 
would have it, he met Ranelagh and Coote on their retreat to 
Dublin, and must needs have a tilt with them, after the manner 
of your fighting cocks” — and he glanced maliciously at Phelim — 
“ I thought Preston was over fond of making a stir, the which 
hath cost him full dear on this last occasion, for the Puritans 
with a much smaller force cut their way through his army 
drawn up to bar their progress — that comes. Sir Phelim, of over 
oombativeness ” 

“ Said you Rathconnell was the place!” inquired O’Reilly of 
Breffny in an agitated voice. 

“ Ay, surely !” said Owen, referring again to the document in 
his hand, “ but what of that, friend Philip !” 


256 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


At first the chieftain declined answering, and would fain have 
laughed the matter ofi*, but curiosity once aroused was not so 
easily allayed, and there was no evading the keen scrutiny of 
Owen’s eye. 

“ Were Malachy na Soggarth here,” said the BrefFny chief, 
“ ye would, doubtless, have known before this. My knowledge 
of the prophecies is but small, compared with Malachy’s, yet 
unluckily I have heard from my childhood that a great battle 
was to be fought at Rathconnell ” 

“ And what further sayeth the prophecy 7” 

“ It sayeth. General O’Neill,” said O’Reilly slowly and with 
emphasis, “ that whichever party wins that battle wins all 
Ireland !” 

A scornful laugh burst from Phelim O’Neill ; McMahon cried 
“ pooh ! pooh !” and Roderick Maguire shook back his long 
tresses with a smile of disdain. Not so Owen Roe, between 
whom and O’Reilly uneasy glances were exchanged, and not- 
withstanding their evident desire to appear unconcerned, neither 
could entirely succeed. Although Owen O’Neill was the last 
man to be infiuenced by superstition, this, he conceived, was 
far removed from superstition. The gift of prophecy had 
never been entirely withdrawn from the faithful ; one portion 
of this prediction was already fulfilled, might not the other be 
fatally true 7 “ God in Heaven forefend !” murmured Owen to 
himself, and then with a significant glance at O’Reilly, he forced 
a laugh and affected to make light of the prophecy as an old 
wife’s tale. 

But little recked Preston and his bold Leinstermen for what 
they considered a trifling defeat. For every loss they sustained 
they gained half a dozen minor advantages, which, taken 
together, were rapidly giving them possession of the Province. 
Lord Castlehaven was rendering effective aid, chiefly to Preston, 
and some of the most chivalrous deeds of that tedious 'svar 
were achieved by that gallant nobleman. 

Whilst the Puritans, according to their custom, were butcher- 
ing without mercy such as fell into their hands, without distinc- 
tion of age, sex, or rank, it was the proud distinction of the 
Catholic leaders that they showed mercy to hundreds of the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


257 


feeble and defenceless in every part of the country. About the 
same time that Stewart’s marauders were perpetrating such atro- 
cities in Ulster, Lord Castlehaven was escorting “ a number 
of men and women of quality,” whom he found cooped up “ in 
a great room” in Birr (when General Preston took that strong 
town) to the friendly garrison of Athy. When the Catholic 
troops took possession of the town, this numerous company of 
the chief persons flocked together for shelter, naturally fearing 
the dread retaliation of the Irish for the horrible cruelties exer- 
cised upon them by the Puritan generals, and when Lord Cas- 
tlehaven made his appearance they fell on their knees and 
besought him with piteous cries to save their lives. With the 
spirit of a Catholic soldier he complied, and obtaining his gen- 
eral’s consent to take command of the convoy, he took with him 
a strong force,* and conducted them in safety to their friends 
at Athy after a toilsome march of two or three days through 
woods and bogs. 

Again at Ballenakill, a stropg castle taken by Preston, after 
much hard flghting, the garrison, having at length surrendered, 
was conveyed to a place of safety by the same nobleman. Such 
chivalrous acts as these are amongst our proudest recollections 
of that disastrous time, and as Owen Roe told them over for Sir 
Phelim’s special beneflt, his cheek glowed and his eye glistened, 
and he said : 

“ That is what I call Christian warfare, becoming knights and 
gentlemen ” 

“ Thou shalt do no murder,” saith the Lord of Hosts, inter- 
rupted Phelira with unusual solemnity, “ to the which I would 
add as regardeth these canting varlets, if thou dost thou shalt 
surely suffer, for as God liveth we will show you no mercy an’ 
you show us none. That black-livered crew will thank you none 
the more for fair dealing, and take my word for it, neither you 
nor Castlehaven would fare any better in their hands than the 
monster Sir Phelim O’Neill, who giveth them as good as they 

* Lord Castlehaven tells us in his Memoirs that the number of peo- 
ple whom he thus conveyed to Athy was about 800, amongst whom 
were many “ men and women of quality.” 


258 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


bring, and lashes them like hounds when he gets his hands on 
them !” 

Owen smiled and shook his head but said no more. He had 
little time to waste in idle conversation, for there was hardly a 
day but detachments from some of the enemy’s quarters were 
making foraging excursions into the country of Tyr-Owen or the 
adjacent county of Armagh. Many of these freebooting parties 
W'ere met and defeated by his people led on by their respective 
chiefs, but still the evil increased and became intolerable, so that 
with any other general but Owen Roe, in whose wisdom they 
had unbounded confidence, the tribes of Ulster would have risen 
in a body to drive out the foreigners as they did once before. 
As it was, it required all Owen’s powers of persuasion to keep 
them quiet under such provocation, and his most effective argu- 
ment was that the day was rapidly approaching when his army 
could take the field, and then it would be his turn to clear the 
province, once, he trusted, and for all. And then the prepara- 
tions he was seen making — the rare and novel training he was 
giving to his soldiers, teaching them such warlike exercises and 
manoeuvres as made the simple clansmen stare. It was the great- 
est sight their eyes had seen, the squares and columns of Owen 
Roe’s army, the marching and countermarching, and the skilful 
handling of weapons new to the northern clans. Under the 
teaching of such a master as Owen Roe, the warlike followers of 
the Ulster chiefs rapidly acquired the discipline they had never 
known before, and learned to unite their strength for a common 
effort. 

At length Owen began to feel satisfied with the proficiency of 
his troops and a change was gradually perceptible in his tactics. 
As a preliminary step he cleared the country of cattle and other 
provisions that might fall into the hands of the enemy, sending 
the inhabitants back into the woods and mountains with a fair 
share for their sustenance. This was a capital stroke of policy, 
for the enemy were thereby reduced to the greatest straits in 
their garrison towns and in the wild border districts to which they 
had latterly retired for the convenience of making incursions. 

The long winter had passed away in these preliminary opera- 
tions, and the wise policy pursued by O’Neill was manifest in its 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 259 

results. Monroe and Stewart were driven to the utmost extre- 
mity for want of provisions, and menaced by the presence of 
O’Neill’s army, remained cooped up, as it were, in the more 
' northern parts of the province, while all the central portions were 
occupied by the Catholic forces on, on to the borders of the 
Pale — where Preston and Castlehaven were masters of all the 
principal strongholds. 

Things were at such a pass when, one bright May day, Owen 
Roe, with some of his staff and a score or so of his followers, was 
out hunting, providing for the hospitable board at Charlemont 
while indulging in his favorite amusement. He chanced to be on 
the Charlemont side of the river, and at no great distance from 
the castle, when all at once the well known signal cry of the 
Rapparees was heard loud, wild and impatient. The general 
suddenly pulled in his horse, saying, “ Friends, the Rapparees 
are abroad — what meaneth that cry 1” Eagerly his eye scanned 
the horizon but nothing unusual was to be seen. 

Again the cry rang out over hill and valley : “ The Albinachs 
are on you ! — fly !” 

“ Great God !” said the general, “ that is Donogh’s voice — 
where can the enemy be 1 — ha ! yonder they come ! — Saints of 
Heaven ! they are in force, too— mark yon forest of spears !” 
And he pointed to a gleaming, glittering line too clearly visible 
between him and the horizon. “ Haste ye, friends ! haste ye for 
liberty’s dear sake !” 

“ r faith we have much need, general !” cried a dashing young 
captain. Con Oge O’Neill byname, who was one of his kinsman’s 
aid-de-camps ; “ that is a host — we are scarce a handful ! — pity 
’tis to fly, but fly we must an’ we would do aught to leave a 
name behind us !” And suiting the action to the word he leaped 
liis steed over a quick-set hedge and made off at a gallop for the 
castle. 

All the party followed his example, and the towers of Charle- 
mont were already in sight when a troop of Monroe’s light ca- ' 
valry, detached for the purpose of pursuit, gained upon them, 
and came cantering up behind. 

“ Ride for your lives, men !” cried Owen Roe ; “ yonder is 
safety,” pointing to the still distant walls. “ Our lives are worth 


2G0 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


something to the cause ! On ! on ! on !” and on they all dashed 
with lightning speed. 

But vain their speed — behind them fast and near came the 
Scots urged on by Monroe himself, who in person brought up the 
rear. 

Near and nearer came the foe, and, for some time, fast and 
faster flew on the O’Neills — on and on over hedge, ditch, moss, 
and moor sped the chase, the pursued having much the advan- 
tage in leading the enemy such a dance as they pleased — a few 
hundred yards would have brought them to the castle, when, 
all at once, the thought flashed on Owen’s mind, “ an’ they 
reach the castle so close at our heels, Charlemont is lost — now 
God direct me for the best!” 

A narrow lane or horeen lay right before him, fenced in on 
either side by a close hawthorn hedge, and as Owen’s practised 
eye glanced along it, he suddenly called to his companions to 
halt: 

“ We will give them battle,” said he, “ in God’s name, when 
we get them once fairly wedged — so stand your ground, my 
men ! an’ you would save Charlemont 1” 

" God bless you for the word, general,” said Cen Oge as he 
reined back his prancing steed abreast with Owen’s ; “they’d 
be into the gates, the born devils, neck and heels with ourselves, 
and by St. Columb ! that must not be I But, holy Saints ! ge- 
neral ! fly you — your loss would be worse than fifty Charlemonts 
— we’ll keep them here, at any rate, till you’re safe housed 1 — 
oh God ! fly — here they are !” And seizing the general’s horse 
he would have backed him out through the little band, but 
Owen commanded him sternly to desist. 

“ It is too late,” said he, “ and were it not, I would e’en stay ! 
— there. Con! there — defend yourself — boys! stand fast toge- 
ther — if one fall, let another take his place — they cannot pass, 
an’ you keep close ! — now — now, for God and country !” 

^ Great was the surprise of Monroe and Monroe’s troopers when 
they sa w such a handful of men form in order of battle thinking 
to obstruct their way, and if Puritans ever could laugh they 
would have laughed then. Unluckily, they found it no fun 
when once they came to blows, for, blocked up as they were on 


THE CONFEDERATE CIIIEFTAINS. 


261 


either side, their numbers were of no use to them, the front 
ranks only being able to act. The conflict was fierce and yet 
tedious — many hard blows were exchanged, and some five or 
six of the Scots fell beneath the stalwart arms of the O’Neills. 
All at once Monroe, still in the rear, thought of detaching a 
portion of his troop for the purpose of making a circuit through 
the fields to take the little band in the rear. He succeeded, 
but hardly had they made their way into the adjacent field, 
when a cry of “ Death to the Scots ! — Island Magee !” was heard 
— then the sounds of fight — cries and imprecations from Mon- 
roe’s men — shouts of vengeance from their assailants, and thus 
the conflict raged on both sides of the fence. Owen Roe and 
his little band knew that the Rapparees had come to their aid, 
but see they could not what was going on so near, for their own 
lives were in imminent peril, and it required a superhuman efibrt 
to keep the enemy at bay. Every sense was strained to the 
utmost, for skill and attention were more needed even than 
strength, in order to parry the deadly thrusts of swords and 
bayonets. Still in the van fought Osven Roe, and still by his 
side was Con Oge^ while their brave companions pressed close 
behind, and by God’s great mercy, not one of the devoted band 
had fallen — no sound escaped from any of them, whiii tlie Scots 
cursed, and reviled, and threatened at every blow. Long, long 
did the unequal conquest last — the sounds of fight died away 
behind the hedge, and nought but groans were heard breaking 
drearily on the din of battle in the lane. Suddenly the trum- 
pets sounded on Charlemont wails, and Owen and his followers 
thanked God, for their strength was beginning to fail. At the 
same moment a clattering of horses’ hoofs was heard Jn the field 
beyond the scene of the late conflict, and Monroe’s shrill voice 
rose high above the tumult : 

“ Come awa’ frae awheen rebels !” 

Those in front were not slow in obeying, for the brunt of that 
battle was more than they could well bear, and the sight of 
their dead comrades down amongst the horses’ feet was not at 
all to their liking, nor yet calculated to steady their hands— a 
backward movement was quickly perceptible amongst them, 
and Owen Roe had no mind to stop their retreat, but Con Oge, 


2G2 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


with the mercurial recklessness of a young soldier, called out 
after them as they backed their horses down the lane : 

“ Wlrat the d — ■ — 1, Monroe ! will you leave Owen behind you? 
Here he is — can you not take him?” 

“We’ll hae him yet!” said the grim veteran officer who had 
kept the front all through the fray ; “ we’ll hae him yet, laddie ! 
where the lonan winna save him — an’ maybe your ainsel to 
boot !” ^ 

“ There’s luck in leisure, comrade — you’ll take your time, 
will you not ?” laughed Con over his shoulder, and the Scot 
looking back shook his fist at him as they rode each his way, 
Monroe still calling on his men to ride faster, faster, to rejoin 
the army, whose banners and glittering arms made a formidable 
show in the distance.* 

Owen Roe, with his wonted coolness, chided Con for thus 
bandying words with an enemy, whose unaccountable retreat 
was a rare God-send, deliberately wiping his sword as he talked, 
riding the while at full speed towards the castle, as though to 
show his equestrian skill. All at once, at a turn of the broad 
road on which the party were now caracolling, a strange and 
ghastly sight presented itself, and Owen Roe himself, stout as 
his heart was, quailed before it. Some fifteen or twenty of the 
Rapparees were there, mounted as usual on good horses, (pressed 
into the service,) but without saddle or bridle, either, other than 
a hempen rope, which they made to serve the purpose. Wilder 
and more haggard even than their wont, and scantily covered 
from the winter’s cold, with matted locks and thin, wasted fea- 
tures, their eyes withal burning like living coals, and the pikes 
they carried crimson with gore. Donogh, himself, rode first, 
but little better equipped than the others, and his usually mild 
face wearing a ferocious expression, while ever and anon he 
shook at arm’s length a piece of cloth dabbled in blood, and 
laughed with maniac glee, and his comrades chorused his 
hideous mirth. 

“ See there, general !” cried the excited young leader, and he 

* This poor attempt and pusillanimous retreat of Monroe are strictly 
historical. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


263 


shook the bloody raw closer to O’Neill’s face than was at all 
pleasing; “see, there, Owen na lamb dearg! we came to help 
you, and it’s we that helped ourselves finely ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! do 
you know what that is 1 — do you know I" 

Owen shook his head, and he shuddered, too — the other went 
on : “ You have seen it before, for all that — you remember that 
night in the Brantree — ay ! I see you do — well ! here it is again 
for you, the pretty ornament I have worn on my arm for so 
many weary months — I promised to wear it till the blood that 
was on it would be washed out in the heart’s blood of the mur- 
derer — and — and — ha! ha! ha! that’s what I’m afier doing 
now — do you hear me, general 1 — the strip may go to the fiames 
now, for, by the right arm that did that deed of justice, it was 
well soaked and washed in that same muddy puddle ” 

“ Then you chanced on your mother’s murderer in that field 
beyond T’ 

“ Chanced ! ay, faith, that did I — I knew him by the marks 
and tokens I had in my mind ever since that bloody night — but 
that wasn’t all, general ! that wasn’t all — we settled with Lindsay, 
too ” 

“ Lindsay ! who is he 1” 

“ Ila ! I thought you knew — Lamb dearg aboo ! there they 
come !” meaning the troop of cavalry now cantering across the 
plain from the draw-bridge of the castle. “ Why, Lindsay — 
Lindsay was — it’s too long to tell, general ! but we of Island 
Magee had a crow to pluck with him, and— we plucked it — 
that’s all — sure they had made an officer of him, the hang-dog 
villain — they had — and it’s him was at the head of the party 
Monroe sent round to steal a march on you — there was twenty 
or thereabouts. General O’Neill ! and would you guess how 
many went back alive 1 — just two — two, as I’m a living man, 
and even them have our mark on them — they have !’’ 

“ Poor fellows ! brave fellows !” said Owen with a pitying 
glance at the half-naked limbs of his trusty auxiliaries, “ you 
have probably saved our lives by cutting off that party. Ac- , 
cept my thanks for your timely aid. I must see that your 
equipment be somewhat better — come wi'h us to the castle — 
you need refreshment !’’ 


2G4 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ God bless you, general ! we’re well used to cold and hun- 
ger, anyhow — pull out, comrades ! there’s fire and food in 
Charlemont !” 

The party from the castle by this time were close at hand, 
and no words can express their joy on finding their general safe 
and sound after such an encounter. Hearing how the matter 
was, all eyes were turned on the Rapparees, and every heart 
throbbed with gratitude for their timely interposition. 

It so happened that Shamus Beg was at the castle that day 
on business of Sir Phelim’s, and as the Rapparees crowded into 
the wide hall, where the blazing fire at either end invited their 
approach, Donogh felt his hand lovingly squeezed, and the voice 
of that true friend spoke at his side, wishing him joy of the 
great luck he had in regard to saving the general. 

“ And I paid my mother, Shamus ! what I owed her !” cried 
the young man eagerly ; “ see there’s my piece of drugget — ay ! 
look — there’s fresh blood on it, Shamus aroon ! and you know 
what sign that is — and Lindsay, too, my boy ! you hadn’t passed 

your word for him this time — ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

“ Donogh !” said Shamus catching him by the arm, “ is it 

truth you tell me 1 — is lie dead 'I ” 

“ As dead as ever you or I’ll be — why, Shamus ! you look as 
if you were sorry !” 

“ Well ! I’m glad and I’m sorry both — I’m glad he got his 
earning at your hands, but I’m sorry I missed, him myself — I 
always had a look-out for him — still, it can’t be helped — it’s 
well enough as it is — where is Angus from you the day I” 

“ He went off Derry side this morning, himself and Florry, on an 
errand for the general here— I’m as well pleased he wasn’t with 
us a while ago, for, between you and me, Shamus ! he can’t bear 
the sight of blood, though as brave a gossoon as ever drew a 
pike ! Thanks be to God, Shamus ! I’m thinking it’s a good 
morning’s work we made of it one way with another !” 

Although the wine-cup was, for the most part, a stranger to 
the lips of Owen Roe, he emptied a goblet that day with Con Oge 
and his other officers to.the health of Donogh and his Rapparees — 
who had borne so large a share in the dangers and successes of 
the day. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


265 


But O’Neill was not the man to sit quietly at home within Lis 
Castle walls with the enemy almost at his threshold. “ He wax- 
cth over bold, Con !” said he to his young kinsman ; “ we will 
clip his wings for him before long, an’ there be strength in the 
lied Hand.” 

And they did, too — on the following day, Owen Roe marched 
from Cliarlemont long before dawn with a whole brigade of his 
army under the immediate command of Colonel Sandford, and 
taking a short-cut through the mountains, guided by some of 
the clansmen from that neighborhood, they pounced upon Monroe 
when he least expected it, and their fierce onset was irresistible. 
Rejoiced to have, at length, the so-long wished-for opportunity, 
the Irish soldiers rushed like lightning on the astonished foe, 
bearing down all before them. No time was given the Scots to 
recover from their confusion — O’Neill’s horse were trampling 
them down in headlong charge, while the heavy axes of the 
gallowglasses rang on their steel morions, cleaving them through 
and through, and the pikes and bayonets of the kerns skewering 
them like wild-fowl. And down from the mountains in anotlxu 
direction dashed the wild wood-kern with their fearful shout : 
“ Island Magee !” and their pikes finished the work so well be- 
gun. Monroe bewildered and dismayed — for his wits were nevt-r 
of the clearest — owed it to the steady and cool bravery of a few 
of his officers if he escaped that day to Carrickfergus with his 
thinned and shattered forces. 

This victory, while it served to encourage the natives, and in- 
fuse new life into the sluggish clansmen, whose martial ardor 
had begun to yield to procrastination and disappointment, had 
also the effect of stirring up the Scotch generals from their win- 
ter lairs around the borders. Cole was up with his northern 
Protestants on the Fermanagh side. Monroe began to bestir 
himself in Antrim— Stewart, ever active, quitted O’Donnell’s 
country and advanced cautiously into Tyr-Owen. Montgomery 
and Chicester, uniting what men they had, suddenly approachf- 1 
O’Neill’s district, and word was brought the General in Charl.^- 
mont Castle that they were foraging the country round. 

“Let them,” said Owen Roe, “let them— much good may 
they get of their plunder!” The wily general had sent the 
22 


266 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


cattle to the hills where no Scot ia all Ireland would venture in 
search of them, guarded as they were by the entire strength of 
the Rapparees. 

A few days more and Owen Roe was on his march to Leitrim, 
where he meant to co-operate with the O’Rourkes, O’Reillys 
.and others of the border clans, still harassed by the lawless bar- 
barians under Hamilton’s command. It was a curious sight, or 
would be now, to see Owen Roe’s army in motion, wending its 
tortuous way amongst the green hills of Ulster. Gallant and 
bold was the clansmen’s bearing, and right proudly they marched 
in the van, with their spears and battle-axes flashing in the sum- 
mer sun, and the new banner of the Confederate Catholics, with 
its sacred emblems, floating side by side with the ancient flag of 
Tyr-Owen, the Red Hand blazoned on a white ground. Gallo w- 
glasses and kerns, enveloped in their saflfron-colored garments, 
loose and large, but conflned at the waist with a leathern girdle ; 
chiefs in their national costume, too, looking stately and bold 
and elate with hope ; but, strangest of all to modern eyes would 
have been the herds of cattle and the troops of women and 
children, forming what was called the creaghts.* These were 
the families of the clansmen, whom they dared not leave behind. 

* These creaghts are often mentioned by Castlehaven in hu Me- 
moirs as “ Osven Roe’s Creaghts.” 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


207 






CHAPTER XXII. 


With grave 


Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem’d 
A pillar of state : deep on his front eogrr ven 
Deliberation sat, and public care.” 


M I LTOX. 


“ On, on to the just and glorious strife, 

With your swords your freedom shielding ; 


Nay resign, if it must be so, even life. 
But die, at least, unyielding !” 


Some weeks before the events just related, when the s to any 
winds of March were blustering through the streets of the old 
town of Trim, and whirling in eddies around the towers of De 
Lacy’s Castle, there was such a stir within the walls of the 
old fortress as though another General Assembly of some kind 
were taking place there. But no such thing ; of a far different 
nature was the event which had for the time quickened the 
pulses of the old borough. Lords and knights of high renown 
were there with their troops of followers, but none of the old 
blood were amongst them. In the great hall of the castle some 
ten or twelve nobles of high degree were assembled, not for 
purposes of deliberation, nor as delegates from the people, but 
in accordance with the will of King Charles and in obedience to 
his command. In his sore need, he began to look to the Con- 
federate Catholics of Ireland (whose successes were well known 
to him) for that succor which might strengthen his hands against 
the rebellious Parliament of England and the Puritan faction 
in both countries. All at once the monarch pretended to dis- 
cover that his Catholic subjects of Ireland really had some 
grievances, and he sent pressing orders to Ormond and the Lords 
Justices to treat with them on the subject, hear their complaints, 


268 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and so forth, and forward them to him. To this end he further 
appointed a commission, consisting, with Ormond, of the Earls 
of Clanrickarde and Roscommon, Sir Maurice Eustace, and one 
or two others of lesser note. These noblemen and gentlemen 
w^ere to confer, on the part of his Majesty, with other commis- 
sioners appointed by the Confederates, and with hearts buoyed 
up with hope of an amicable settlement, the Supreme Council 
deputed a corresponding number to repair to Trim in accord- 
ance with the royal command. 

In that stately hall, then, of Trim Castle, Lord Gormanstown, 
Sir Lucas Dillon, Sir Robert Talbot, and a few others met the 
king’s commissioners, and both parties looked anxiously for the 
coming of Lord Ormond. Long they looked, but looked in vain, 
for the king’s lieutenant-general knew better than to forward 
the king’s views in effecting an accommodation. Accordingly, 
whilst Ulick of Clanrickarde and his friend of Roscommon were 
treating, in all sincerity, with the Catholic commissioners regard- 
ing the grievances which had compelled the Confederates to 
take up arms, and declaring the benign intentions of their royal 
master in their regard, James Butler of Ormond, true to his 
utterly selfish character, was acting on the instructions of the 
Lords Justices and with his army ravaging and laying waste the 
country in the king's name, a day’s march or so from the walls 
of Trim. 

It was a grievous disappointment to Gormanstown and Talbot, 
and, indeed, to all the Catholic commissioners, that Ormond was 
not present. Their faith in him was great, those Norman nobles 
of the Pale, whereas Clanrickarde, although of their own faith, 
had little of their confidence. In that they erred, fatally, blindly 
erred, for Clanrickarde, disloyal Catholic as he was, was yet 
true to his king, and, utterly forgetful of his own interests, 
labored in earnest and with all his might to effect an accommo- 
dation which he knew could not fail to serve his royal master 
materially at that critical juncture of his affairs. For the inter- 
ests of his fellow-Catholics, he cared not a straw — let them take 
things as they found them, just as he did, but the fortunes of 
the Royal Stuart were of primary importance to Ulick Burke, 
and to them all else must needs give way. With Ormond the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


2G9 


case was far, far diflferent, and of that Clanrickarde had strong 
suspicions, but he was not the man to speak rashly on any sub- 
ject, least of all in what concerned the most powerful lord in 
Ireland, the king’s trusted lieutenant, and the hope of Irish 
royalists. 

The deputies sent by the Supreme Council were just the sort 
of plastic materials whereon the sage XJlick might work to his 
satisfaction. They were all of the class even then known as 
“ moderate men,” that is to say, men moderately attached to 
any party, but strongly attached to their own interests — men 
who were scandalized by the more impulsive patriotism of their 
Celtic associates, and more anxious in reality to stand well with 
Lord Ormond and his party than with the Supreme Council of 
the nation. Had any chieftain of Irish blood formed part of that 
deputation, he would have scowled darkly, perchance, on that 
Talbot of Malahide who had served the Justices against faithful 
Wicklow, and who now made his obeisance before Clanrickarde 
and his brother commissioners as a deputy from — the Confeder- 
ate Catholics. But neither Mac nor 0 was on the commission, 
fbr the very good reason that the magnates of the Pale had even 
then a preponderance in the Supreme Council. 

With characteristic coolness and tact. Lord Clanrickarde ex- 
pressed his surprise at Lord Ormond’s absence, “ seeing that his 
lordship’s name stood first on the commission. Doubtless he is 
detained by some lawful cause appertaining to his Majesty’s 
service.” 

“I hope it be^not of such a nature, then,” observed Lord 
GormanstoWp, “ as that matter of Timolin 

“ Of what nature was that, I pray your lordship 1” inquired 
the Galway earl. 

“ Methought it had reached your lordship’s ears, for it hath , 
been much talked of. It fell out in this wise ” 

“Nay, good my lord,” quoth Sir Kobert Talbot, “ seeing that 
the matter hath no bearing on this question, it is but loss of 
time telling it over.” 

“ Pardon me. Sir Robert,” said the less accommodating head 
of the house of Preston, “ I think it hath some affinity to the 
present business !” 


270 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


I would hear it,” said Clanrickarde curtly. 

“ About a fortnight since, when my lord of Ormond was or- 
dered by the Lords Justices to advance upon Wexford and Ross 
by way of Carlow, having occasion to pass by Fitz-Richard’s 
old fortress of Timolin, garrisoned for us by fourscore men or 
thereabouts, the Earl summoned them to surrender, the which 
demand they answered by hoisting our colors, which his lordship 
seeing waxed wroth and did begin to batter the castle, and for 
many hours kept up such a fire that the place was no longer 
tenable — still the brave fellows refused to yield, until at length 
the building took fire, and the rafters were blazing- over their 
heads — then the garrison capitulated, and were suffered to 
march out ” 

“ And then V demanded Clanrickarde with a strange smile, 
for he had heard all this before, notwithstanding his seeming 
ignorance. 

“ And then, my good lord,” resumed the peer, “ they were all 
cut to pieces, I suppose by some unlucky mistake, albeit 
that the Earl himself was present 

“ Very strange, truly,” observed the Earl. 

“ Ay, marry, my lord, strange is it, in sooth,” said Sir Lucas 
Dillon ; “ and the more so when we consider how my lord of 
Castlehaven did himself convoy the garrison of Birr all the way 
to Athy — so with my Lord Mountgarret’s castle of Ballenakill, 
and many others taken by our generals — 'it is passing strange, 
and I marvel much at my lord of Ormond, above all men, giving 
in to such bloody and treacherous deeds — at a time, too, when 
he cannot but know that our lord the king much desireth peace 
with us !” 

“ I can no wise account for it, indeed,” was still Clanrickarde’s 
cautious answer, and then, changing the subject, he urged the 
necessity of dispatch in preparing the statement of grievances 
intended for the king.-f But little remained to be done, the 

* This massacre at Timolin is unfortunately historical. It is one 
of the blackest stains on Ormond’s memory. 

t One of the requests put forth in this famous remonstrance goes 
to prove beyond all doubt that the alleged massacres and murders of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


271 


document having been carefully drawn up for the Supreme 
Council, subject to such alterations or amendments as their 
commissioners might find expedient. It was presented in duo 
form to Lord Clanrickarde, Mr. Walsh, one of the Catholic com- 
missioners, observing with a smile : 

' “An’ the old saying hold good, this remonstrance of ours 
must needs be of excellent account — an’ the 'better day make the 
better deed, we could desire none better than St. Patrick'' s Day. 
May our good patron bless the work that its fruit may be a last- 
ing peace, honorable and advantageous to all !” 

And all the commissioners said “ Amen,’’ and Lord Clanrick- 
arde, with his usual gravity of demeanor, expressed his con- 
viction that there could be no doubt of the result, seeing that 
the king, of his paternal goodness, had nothing more at heart 
than the contentment of his lieges in Ireland. Whether the 
politic earl really believed this himself or not, his so solemn 
asseveration was greedily swallowed by the Norman lords and 
gentlemen to whom it was addressed, and they parted in all 
courtesy and kindness from their fellow-commissioners, and 
went back to assure the Supreme Council that things were in a 
fair way. 

Good easy men they doubtless imagined that the petition from 
which they hoped so much was transmitted “ by the first post’’ 
to “ their gracious sovereign’’ for his just and equitable consi- 

tbo Catholics throughout this civil war wore neither more nor less 
than base fabrications of the enemy. “ The leading men among 
the Irish have this to say for thomsolvos,’’ says Lord Castlehaven, 
“ that they were all along so far from favoring any of the murderers, 
that not only by their agents (soon after the king’s restoration) but 
oven in their remonstrance, presented by the Lord Viscount Gor- 
manstown and Sir Robert Talbot, on the 17th of March, 1642, the 
nobility and gentry of the nation desired that the murders on both 
sides committed should bo strictly examined, and the authors of 
them punished according to the utmost severity of the law, which 
proposal, certainly, their adversaries could never have rejected, but 
that they were conscious to themselves of being d.eper in the mire 
than they would have the world believe.” — Castleuayen’s Jlfc- 
moira, p. 17. 


272 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


deration, never dreaming that it was destined to raise a tempest 
in the Parliament House in Dublin before it left the kingdom. 
Yet so it was, and before ever it reached the hands of Charles 
Stuart, it was discussed and dissected before “ the Commons 
House” in Dublin, and, so hotly discussed, too, that the worship- 
ful body of lawgivers came to loggerheads on account of it, 
and- the parliament was prorogued till the beginning of May.* 
Thus, whatever effect the unlucky Remonstrance might have 
had on the king’s mind, the intentions of its framers were 
wholly frustrated, and the ill-starred monarch was deprived by 
his traitorous servants in Dublin of the means of judging for 
himself how matters stood between him and his discontented 
Irish subjects. 

It is probable that the king, crippled as he was, resented the 
detention of this Remonstrance, and blamed Sir William Par- 
sons, for, before that prorogued parliament came together 
again, that crafty and perfidious governor was superseded in 
his command, and Sir Henry Tichbourne (notable for his de- 
fence of Drogheda against Sir Phelim O’Neill) appointed in bis 
stead. 

Great was the joy and exultation of the Confederates when 
the news of Parsons’ recall was spread throughout the country. 
Ills rapacity and cold-blooded cruelty had done much to foment 
the rebellion, and taking place at such a juncture, his removal 
from office was accepted by the ever-hopeful Catholics as a 
concession, and a very important one, to their just demands. 
There is little reason to think that the king or his advisers had 
any such object in view in taking this step, but some pains were 
taken by Lord Clanrickarde and men of his stamo to give the 
ifiair that turn in the eyes of the Catholic party, well knowing 
ihat their hearts were ever well disposed towards the king, and 
anxious to see his acts in the best light. “ Hone on, hope ever” 
was truly their motto as regarded the faithless Stuarts, ana it 
equired the saddest experience to tear from their eyes the 
'jandage they had themselves put on. 

All this time the Confederate arms were in the ascendant in 


* Borlaso’s Irish Rebellion, p. 155. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


273 


almost every part of the country. Preston and (especially) 
Castlehaven were more than holding their own in Leinster — in 
Connaught, affairs were no less prosperous. Lieutenant-General 
Burke, well supported by the Catholic nobility and gentry, had 
done wonders during that long winter. With him were acting, 
amongst others, the heads of the brave Galway tribes, Sir 
Roebuck Lynch and Sir Valentine Blake, with the son and 
grandson of Lord Athenry. Amongst his chief officers were 
also three valiant gentlemen of the ancient house of Kelly, 
known in that day as “ the three Teige Kellys,” and, in fact, 
most of the chief men of the province professing the old faith.* 
It was a sore grief to Lord Clanrickarde — recently made a Mar- 
quis — to see the Confederate armies triumphing all over the 
province, and at last besieging his town of Galway, without his 
being able to afford any relief to his ancient ally, Willoughby, 
once more and for the last time cooped up in the fort. Truly, 
Ulick de Burgo was a sorrowful man that day when, amid the 
solitary grandeur of Oranmore, his ears were stunned by the 
cannon of the Catholic army battering away at the gates and 
walls of Galway, and he forced to reply to Willoughby’s distressed 
prayer for succor that he had none to give. His new coronet 
would he gladly have bartered for the power of serving “ the 
Puritan enemy” that hour, but alas ! neither men, money, nor 
arms remained at the great Ulick’s disposal, and, what was still 
more grievous, had he had supplies of any kind to give, it would 
have profited the garrison but little, for, sad to tell, the unrea- 
sonable Confederates had cut off all access between him and 
the fort, placing a chain right across the bay so as to blockade 
the city by water as well as by land. What a pass were things 
come to in that western country ! 

“ An’ this matter be not brought to a speedy end by the king’s 
royal clemency and wisdom,” sighed the new made Marquis, as. 
he stood looking out from his castle-keep on the wintry waters 
of the bay, and, drearier sight to him, the ships of war riding 
at anchor, with the green flag of the Confederates floating from 
their topmasts ; ” an’ it be not, I fear for the English dominion 


* Meehan’s Covfed Kilk., p. 66. 


274 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


in this realm, and if the Irishry have once their own way, they 
will overturn many a fair holdin" by way, forsooth ! of demand- 
ing restitution.* May God confound their treacherous courses !” 

Wliilst matters were in this position in the western province, 
the Catholic army of the south, under Barry and Purcell, was 
no less successful. Inchiquin, Vavasour and Broghill, with all 
their bravery and military skill, and long experience in the art 
of war, were, for want of the necessary supplies, unable to cope 
with the Confederate generals, and finally reduced to the sorest 
straits.f 

The Catholic armies were, on the other hand, well provided 
with the chief necessaries for carrying on the* war, for money 
and arms were pouring in from the various courts of Europe. 
Friendly governments who had waited to see what the Irish 
would do for themselves, beholding the gallant and pertinacious 
efforts now at length likely to succeed, began all at once to 
take a ^vely interest in the Irish war, and, in fact, to regard the 
nation as all but free. Envoys were sent accordingly from the 
courts of France and Spainij: to the General Assembly when it 
met again in Kilkenny in the month of May, while'letters arrived 

* There was a lurking suspicion amongst all the Anglo-Irish, even 
those who took side with those of the old blood, that, in the event of 
success, the latter might turn on them and exact the restoration of 
the lands wrested from their forefathers. 

t “ The condition,” says Mr. Meehan, “of Inchiquin in the south 
may readily be imagined from a letter which he sent in the early 
part of May to the Earl of Cork : ‘ Our present state,’ wrote the Earl, 
‘ falls out now to be more desperately miserable than ever : in regard 
we have no manner of help or relief amongst ourselves, and the pro- 
visions we depended on out of England doth fail us, which will put 
us to a terrible extremity, here being nothing to deliver forth on the 
next pay day. I request your lordship to lend or borrow £300, for 
victualling those in Youghal. To-morrow, with a heavy heart, I shall 
march forth, to linger out a few days in the field where I am not 
likely to continue so long as to enterprize anything of advantage, for 
want of provisions for the men and money for the officers.* ” 

X The envoy from France was M. De la Monarie ; from Spain, M 
Fusyot, a Burgundian. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


275 


from tlie ever-active Father Wadding from the capital of the 
Christian world, announcing that his Holiness Urban VIII. was 
also about to send an agent to the Confederate Catholics of Ire- 
land with fresh supplies of arms and money. 

And these things were told Charles Stuart, cooped up within 
the walls of Oxford, and daily expecting to be besieged by his . 
rebellious subjects, the Puritans of England. And then he* 
thought of “ the Graces,” and the Defective Titles, and the Court 
of Wards, and all the many edicts he had published against 
“Popish Recusants,” and he groaned in spirit. He said 
within himself ; “ Had I but dealt fairly and justly with those 
poor Catholics of Ireland they would now be my best and most 
trusty friends. Nay, these canting knaves of England and Scot- 
land would not dare push me to the wall as they do, had I the 
strong arm of faithful Ireland "whereon to lean. Alas ! they 
know I have not — they know it well — they know how I have 
dealt with that people — when I might have done them justice, 
even in a measure, I did not, and now their success, which might 
also have been mine, doth but straiten me the more — all Europe 
begins to respect them as a nation — help is coming to them from 
all quarters — so Clanrickarde writes me, and him do I believe 
beyond most others — they have ships, and arms, and money 
— I would we could say as much for our royal self — and 
men enough for the training ! Surely it were our interest 
to speak them fair, and act fairly by them, too— natheless, that 
were as much as our crown were worth, by reason of the intol- 
erance of these Puritans ! I would we had not given in so much 
to them in that matter in times past — it is now too late to draw 
back — natheless, something must be done, and that full quickly ! 

we cannot keep that war on fbot with a worse rebellion — ay, 

marry, a veritable rebellion — staring us in the face here at home 
—rebellion! — hal— are our Irish subjects, indeed, rebels 1 Is 
it our authority they resist, or the oppressions of our ministers 1 
Before God, I cannot but hold them well affbeted to our person 
as, in times past, they have ever been to the princes of our 
house'.” 

In pursuance of this train of thought, certain instructions o« 


27G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


a peremptory nature were forthwith sent to Lord Ormond, the 
nature of which will presently appear. 

Little dreaming of w'hat was passing in the royal mind of Eng- 
land, and perchance caring little if he did, Owen Roe O’Neill was 
marching with his gallant little army of Ulstermen, such as we 
have described them, to join the friendly clans of Leitrim. Such 
a junction was too much to be dreaded by the Puritans of Ulster 
for them not to make an effort to prevent it. Accordingly, the 
Catholic army had barely reached the confines of Fermanagh, 
where the ancient town of Clones stands just within the county 
of Monaghan, when the scouts brought in the startling intelli- 
gence that Sir Robert Stewart was in hot pursuit with a much 
larger force. 

“An’ that be his fancy, we must e’en humor him,’’ said Owen 
Roe ; “ better now than when our march hath been longer.” 

• “ By my faith, general, we have been over long resting on our 

oars,” cried light-hearted Captain Con, as he tried the temper of 
his bright blade by bending it till hilt and point almost came 
together ; “ it is time to pull up now an’ we ever mean to do it. 
Lamh dearg aboo ! sons of Owen, our turn is come at last !” 

“ Be not so eager for the fray. Con,” said Owen with a kindly 
smile, for he loved the impetuous young soldier; “ mortal strife 
ever cometh too soon ! Saints and angels ! what a host !” The 
Scottish force was just visible crowning the summit of a gentle 
acclivity some half a mile distant. 

Sir Con Magennis here advanced to Owen’s side, and begged 
him in a low, cautious tone not to wait for such a force as that 
commanded by such a captain as Stewart. 

“ Nay, Sir Con,” said the chieftain somewhat indignantly, 
“ you would not have us run away before their very eyes — be- 
think you of what the antients tell us : ‘ Never seek the battle, 
nor shun it when it comes !’ ” 

Magennis shook his head, but he answered : “ Be it as you 
will, O’Neill !” and then hastened off to seo that all was right 
amongst the men of Iveagh. 

It so happened that a long and narrow pass lay between tho 
two armies, and of this Owen Roe hastened to take possession, 
lining it on either side with double rows of his light kerns arm- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


277 


ed with guns and bayonets. Hardly were the troops disposed 
in order of battle when the heads of Stewart’s columns were 
seen approaching the farther end of the defile, commanded by 
Sir William Balfour and Colonel Mervyn, two officers of estab- 
lished reputation. 

“ Sons of Owen, the odds are against us this time,” cried 
O’Neill, “ but your fathers have routed the foe ere no.v with a 
worse chance than ours. Remember the lane at Charlernont 
wherein a score of us kept Monroe’s army at bay for a full 
hour — be firm and fear not — we may give these proud Scots a 
story to tell an’ they reach their quarters ! Fix bayonets, 
men !” 

The clicking sound of this motion had hardly died away 
when the whole body of Stewart’s cavalry came up at a gallop, 
and, without time for deliberation, were ordered by their gene- 
ral to force the pass. Had they paused even a moment the 
sternest of those grim veterans might have shrunk from 
the task, but, accustomed to implicit obedience, on they dashed, 
^ on through the bristling rows of bayonets, cutting and hacking 
on either side with their long sabres — not unscathed they 
passed, for at every step some of their number bit the dust, and 
the riderless horses kicked and plunged, and made sore con- 
fusion in their ranks. Yet maddened by the fall of their com- 
rades, and determined to cut their way through, on, and still 
on they dashed, the bravo kerns on either side standing their 
ground right manfully, yet still unable to stem the rushing tor- 
rent — on, on swept the death-dealing Puritans, flushed now with 
the certainty of success, and the shouts of exultation from be- 
hind. 

“ Babylon is fallen ! — death to the recusants !” 

“ The Red Hand for ever ! — Lamh dearg aboo !” made an- 
swer the Kinel Owen, as their cavalry dashed into the narrow 
defile, meeting the enemy with a force so overwhelming that 
men and horses rolled over and fell back on those behind, 
throwing all into confusion. On and over the prostrate foe 
swept the fierce horsemen of Tyr-Owen, with Con Oge in their 
foremost rank, driving all before them, till the pass was cleared 
of the enemy, save only the dead and dying, whose groans 


278 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


mingled dolefully with the shouts of exultation and defiance ex- 
changed between the combatants. The Irish, believing the day 
their own, set up a cry of exultation, as their cavalry retreated 
through the pass, to resume their stations in the rear — hardly 
was the movement effected, when Stewart himself advanced at 
the head of his cavalry to try the pass again, pointing with his 
sword to the Irish lines beyond. This time O’NeiH’s musketeers 
closed their ranks obedient to the voice of their general, dis- 
charging their pieces in the face of men and horses, with such 
stunning effect that the cavalry were forced once more to retire, 
leaving several of their comrades dead or wounded as before. 
As a last resource, Stewart commanded a party of infantry to 
seize the pass at all hazards. This was done, after a desperate 
struggle, during which many of the brave Irish defenders of the 
pass were cut to pieces. The engagement now became more 
general, and Owen Roe, advancing to the front, was attacked 
by a nephew of the Scottish commander, ambitious, no doubt, of 
fleshing his sword on the greatest of all the Irish. 

“ Yield, rebel and traitor ! yield !” cried the excited young 
officer ; “ yield or die !” 

“ I will do neither,” said O’Neill, smiling at the boyish impetu- 
osity of his opponent ; “ defend yourself, young sir !” and draw- 
ing his sword he prepared for the combat, with as much cool- 
ness as though no enemy were within sight. 

“ Spawn of perdition, this to your heart, then !” cried his 
fierce assailant, aiming a deadly thrust at his heart, which Owen 
parried, and was preparing to close with his antagonist, when a 
piercing cry arose from the ranks of the Kinel Owen : “ God in 
heaven ! see to the general,” and quick as thought a well aimed 
ball made its way to the heart of Stewart, while a dozen pikes 
pinned his horse to the ground.* 

“ So perish all your enemies, Owen !” said Con Oge at his 
kinsman’s back ; “ he was bent on slaying you, the Puritan 
hound !” 

* Meehan’s Confederation. Ibid, note to p. 69, quoting O'NeilVa 
Journal. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


279 


“ Nay, Con, were he the devil himself, he was a brave 
fellow ** 

No time was left for further parley, for by this time the battle 
raged on all sides, and Owen, seeing the greatly superior num- 
bers of the enemy, began to think of effecting a retreat while it 
was yet time. To accomplish this object, he ordered up a re- 
served body of cavalry commanded by Captain Shane O’Neill. 
No sooner was this perceived by the enemy than yells of savage 
execration burst from the Puritans, and the fanatic preachers of 
wrath and blood were seen goading them on to yet more des- 
perate efforts. 

By a series of admirable manoeuvres the Irish cavalry made 
their way between their own foot and that of the enemy, beat- 
ing down the Scotch bayonets with their broad-swords, and 
keeping up a show of attack in order to cover the retreat of the 
infantry. 

“ Sons of Owen ! death or victory !” cried Con Oge O’Neill, 
whirling his sabre high in air — they were his last words, for the 
next moment the gallant young leader fell backwards on his 
horse pierced by a mortal wound. In the heat of the contest 
his fall was for a moment unnoticed, and ihat one moment* was 
fatal to him. Darting with maniac fury through the thick of 
tho fight, a man in a semi- clerical habit threw himself on the 
half-dead officer and stabbed him again and again. One long 
agonized groan, a gurgle in the throat, and poor Con was sense- 
less clay. His assassin might perchance have escaped unnoticed 
as he came, but his bloody exultation could not be concealed. 
Holding up the crimsoned falchion to the view of all, he uttered 
a yell of savage triumph, crying: “ Wo — wo, to the worshippers 
of idols — lo ! I have slain a strong man of the Ammonites !’* 

The words were hardly uttered when the minister (for such 
he was) fell pierced by many wounds, the steel corslet which he 
wore under his short black cloak, shattered by the blow of a 
ponderous battle-axe, and his scull cloven through a morion of 
the same metal. 

“ The light of heaven may he never see that cut your thread 
of life. Con Ogo !” 


2S0 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


It was Shane O’Neill that spoke, and after charging some of 
his troopers to convey the body to tne van ot ttie infantry, he 
made another vigorous attack on the enemy, whose line was 
still unbroken, then began slowly to retreat, with his face to the 
foe, his gallant troop beating back the advance of the Puritan 
cavalry with the determined courage of well-tried veterans. 
The trumpets in the rear kept sounding the retreat, and Stewart, 
after a short conference with Balfour and Mervyn, came to the 
conclusion that it was as well to let the Irish go their way. 
Having forced the pass, they were so far victorious, and from 
what they had seen of Owen Roe and his little army they judged 
it best to be content with what they had gained, rather than 
risk all by a further contest. Their loss was already consider- 
ai>le, much exceeding that of the Irish, so that their measure of 
success was dearly purchased, and gave bitter foretaste of what 
was to come. 

On these terms they parted, the Puritans gloomily discon- 
tented that their prey should escape so easily, the Catholics 
thankful that matters were no worse with them, and little 
grudging the foe his doubtful victory for which they had made 
him pay so dear. Not unrevenged was Lady O’Cahan that day, 
and if Con O’Neill fell, an hundred dark-browed Puritans naid 
the penalty. 

Well satiiified to escape so easily, yet sad and sorrowful for 
the loss of his favorite young kinsman, whose remains he con- 
signed to consecrated earth within the friendly territory of the 
O’Rourkes, O’Neill rapidly pursued his march to Leitrim, where, 
according to his expectations, his army received considerable 
additions from the chiefs of that country, whom he found well 
prepared for war. 

It was within the hospitable walls of Drumahair, where Owen 
was the guest of the O’Rourke, that a dispatch was brought 
him, bearing the well-known seal of the Supreme Council. 
Hastily tearing it open he glanced over its contents, but before 
he reached the end his hand trembled, his cheek was suffused 
with crimson, and his eyes glowed with unwonted fire. 

“ Heavens above, O’Neill ! what has happened T* cried 


t 


THE CONrEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. k 

O’Rourke, whose eye was on him at the moment. “ What news 
from Kilkenny can stir you so V' 

“ Read for yourself,” said Owen Roe, handing the document 
to his friend, while he himself arose and commenced pacing the 
hall to and fro with a disturbed and angry aspect, ever and anon 
repeating to himself, “ Fools ! dolts ! What spirit can possess 
them 1 Where be their wits »” 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 




CHAPTER XXIII. 

“ Let the ancient hills of Scotland 
Hear once more the battle-song, 

Swell within their glens and valleys 
As the clansmen march along !” 

Aynton’s Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, 

‘ His words seem’d oracles 
That pierced their bosoms ; — ’ 

Rev. GEORaE Croly. 

“ What think you of that, O’Rourke'?” said Owen Roe as his 
friend handed hack the document. 

“ I think, Owen,” the chieftain replied with noble indignation, 
“ I think there be traitors within our camp, else why listen to 
such terms at such a moment. For myself, so long as the towers 
of Manor Hamilton cumber the ground, or the monster who 
owneth them breathes the air of heaven, so long do I mean 
to war against that pestilent crew by all fair and honorable 
means ” 

“Your hand, Owen O’Rourke!” said O’Neill stopping sud- 
denly in front of him, and the two exchanged a clasp of more 
than brotherly agreement, “ pray Heaven and our dear Lady 
there be enough of us of that mind in the Assembly to overrule 
this mischievous motion — an’ ^there be not — then God be our 
aid, for I much fear what is gained will come to nought.” 

“ But what — what is your intent, Owen “I” 

“ I will send off a messenger this very hour with my strong- 
est protest against this wily device of the enemy ” 

“ And what then “I” 

“ Why, make the best use of our time pending the negotia- 
tions : you know what I mean 1” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


283 


“ That do I, and, by my father’s shield! you shall have what 
little aid we can give you. Where left you O’Reilly 1” 

“ He and McMahon were to join me here on the eighth day 
from my leaving Charlemont. They promise large reinforce- 
ments.” 

“It is well,” said O’Rourke, and calling to him his faithful 
kinsman, Manus, he ordered him to send trusty messengers to 
Cavan to hasten the movements of its chief, requesting him to 
speed the message on into Uriel. 

“ Let the chiefs know that we await them here, Manus, and 
that minutes are hours till we see their banners advancing.” 

Leaving the northern chiefs to commence that grand cam- 
paign for which their astute leader had been so long preparing, 
let us see what was passing in Kilkenny that had so disturbed 
the calm mind of Owen O’Neill. 

Pursuant to the king’s command, Ormond had sent proposals 
to the Confederates for one year’s cessation of arms, and not- 
withstanding the firm and strenuous opposition of the bishops 
and most of the old Irish who were of the council, the luke- 
warm Normans of the Pale, with the aid of Muskerry, Mount- 
garret, and one or two others of those half-English “ trimmers,” 
had succeeded in appointing a commission to treat with the 
Marquis.* The question, however, was still an open one in the 
Assembly, where all the genius and eloquence of Nicholas 
French, t the fervid enthusiasm of Archbishop O’Kelly, and the 
united influence of all the prelates were brought to bear against 
the Cessation. 

“What!” said the venerable Bishop of Ferns, in reply to 
Lord Mountgarret’s announcement that the commissioners had 
been named, “ what ! will your lordships, then, play into the 
hands of Ormond who, with his colleagues, can alone benefit 
by this measure T’ 

“My lord!” said Mountgarret, “I marvel much to hear a 

' \ 

V 

* Ormond and Clanrickarde wore raised to the rank of Marquis in 
or about the same time. 

t The illustrious Bishop of Ferns, one of the most eminent prelates 
that ever adorned the Irish Church. 


284 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


man of your order raising liis voice against peace — of the which 
our poor country hath so great need !” 

“ Peace is a good thing, my Lord Mountgarret,” returned the 
prelate drily, “ but like many other good things it may be 
bought too dear. ‘ Our poor country’ hath often had more need 
of your lordship’s pity than at this juncture when the valor of 
her sons hath brought the enemy to sue for peace. Truly, this 
nation hath never stood so near her deliverance, never made the 
oppressor quail as now he doth — wherefore draw back now 
when a few steps onward may bring permanent peace made 
on equal terms I” 

“ My reverend lord,” said Muskerry in a tone of great excite- 
ment, “ you who have not the brunt to bear have little feeling 
for our necessities. Rest is needful unto us, and time not less 
80 . A year’s peace will enable us to recruit our shattered 
forces, and otherwise supply our wants ” 

“ Talk not of wants, I beseech your lordship,” the prelate warm- 
ly rejoined; “ what are our wants now compared to those of the 
enemy 1 Wants, forsooth ! Is it the Catholic soldiers whose feet 
are tracking the road with blood for want of covering to their feet ? 
Is it the Catholic soldiers who are forced to fight with empty 
stomachs 1* — not so, my lords, not so — it is the Puritan bowels that 
make a rumbling now for food — our armies in all the provinces 
are passably well fed, clothed and cared for, thanks to the Giver 
of good things ” 

“ Here, surely, is some mistake, my lord of Ferns,” put in 
Mountgarret hastily ; “ we are assured by Lord Ormond that his 
army is in fair condition, and wants fof nothing ” 

“ Believe him not, for the truth is not in him — we have wit- 

* Sir Philip Percival, an actor in the^ scenes he describes, thus 
pictures the condition of the government forces ; “The state and the 
army,” he says, “ were in the greatest distress. The streets of Dub- 
lin had no manner of victuals many times for one day, so that the 
soldiers would not move without money, shoes, and stockings ; for 
want of which many had marched barefooted, and had bled much on 
the road ; and others, through unwholesome food, had become diseased 
and died.” See Meehan’s Confederation. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


285 


ness within call more credible than he were he fifty Marquises — 

I pray you summon hither the Rev. Father Quin, of the order 
of Jesuits.” 

Marvelling much what this might mean, the necessary orders 
were given, and speedily appeared before the lords spiritual and 
temporal, the dark-visaged son of Loyola, whose shadow has 
more than once crossed our pages. 

“ Father Thomas Quin,” said the Bishop of Ferns, “ no man 
here present knoweth so well as thou the state of Ormond’s 
army. Our friends of the council have it on his lordship’s au- 
thority that his men want for nothing — ahem ! only the cessa- 
ticto of arms, would his lordship admit it — of that they 'be in 
sore need. How say you. Father Quin 

“ I say,” returned the Jesuit, “ that, for all his lordship’s 
boasting, there be no more miserable wights in this realm than 
the men who fight his battles — an’ they be not reduced to the 
last extremity ere this, never men were so near it.” 

“ Father Quin,” said Lord Mountgarret testily, “ we all know ' 
the coloring which your party would fain give to this matter ” 

“My party!” repeated the Jesuit coldly, “my party. Lord 
Mountgarret, is the Catholic body entire — the son r'f Ignatius 
hath no party within the Church : — eyes have I to see, aiul ears 
to hear, and as your lordship knows full well, I see and hear 
W'hat few Catholics in this land may know and live !” 

“ I deny it not, Father Quin ! — God forbid I — I did but mean 
to insinuate ” 

“ That which your lordship did not insinuate when one of our 
order — I say not whom — did risk his life, with your lordship’s 
knowledge, to administer the last rites to young Aylmer and 
Lysaght O’Connor, when Ormond’s friends, if not with Ormond’s 
consent, had them treacherously executed.* Your lordship 
would have, doubtless, esteemed that Jesuit a reliable witness — 
w'ere Ormond himself at the bar I” 

* “ At the battle oi Rathconndl, Lysaght O’Connor and the son of 
Garret Aylmer had been made prisoners by Sir Richard Grenville ; 
in order to exasperate the Catholics, Parsons and his colleagues wrote 
to Sir IT Tichbourne to have them executed by martial law.”— Mee- 
han’s Confederation. 


286 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“Well said, friend Thomas!” said Dr. Kirwan, Bishop of 
Killala, who sat near his brother of Ferns. “ You speak as be- 
comelh your habit — ay ! truly, even as one who feared them 
not ” 

“/fear them!” repeated the Jesuit scornfully, “ I who have 
so often braved death, to their knowing, in the most hideous 
forms that Puritan rage could devise — 1 fear a set>of pusillanim- 
ous Catholics who are ready to barter away on hollow, deceitful 
promises, the hard-won measure of freedom wrested from the 
enemy — I fear them 1 — nay, my good lord, an’ they give in to 
that double-faced plotter, Ormond, in this thing, the day will 
speedily arrive when no man will fear them — when all good 
Catholics will spit upon and execrate them ! I crave pardon of 
your lordships” — bowing humbly to the Bishops — “ and to ths 
honorable council, if I have spoken with overmuch warmth, 
but, were my life the forfeit, I could not help it !” 

“ Father Thomas Qnin,” said Mountgarret — and he rose from 
his seat, but his whole frame trembled so that he was forced to 
rest his risht hand on the arm of his chair — “ Father Thomas 
Quin, no man is more willing to admit the value of your services 
than I am myself, but — but — this language is intolerable. It is 
a foul slur to cast upon so many honorable lords and gentlemen 
of degree ” 

“ Very indifferent Catholics are they, natheless,” said the 
uncompromising Jesuit, “ else would they reiect with scorn 
such overtures coming at such a moment from such a quarter.” 

“ You speak strongly, Master Jesuit.” 

“None too strongly. Master President! I know Ormond — 
you do not — any of you who signed in favor of this Cessation 
— else had you sooner cut off your right hands than do it to plea- 
sure him. I know him, and therefore do I speak in this 
wise.” 

“Have a care what ycu say. Father Quin,” said Lord Mus- 
kerry rising in great agitation, “ Ormond’s name is above reproach 
as above suspicion !” 

“ It is neither one nor tho other, my Lord Muskerry, as far 
as Catholics are concerned, and to your face I say it, spouse of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


287 


Eleanor Butler* — ^if any man here or elsewhere will dqiiy that 
James Butler, Marquis of Ormond, is the worst enemy we have 
to deal with, h.ere stand I, Thon>as Quin, prepared to maintain 
the proposition by evidence clear and incontestible. What say 
you, my lords — and he turned slowly round the semicircle 
formed by the Norman nobles — “ be there any man here who 
will assert in my presence that James Butler of Ormond stands 
well disposed towards Catholics 'I What, silent all 1 — it is well ! 
With your lordships* leave, I will now retire. I must be in 
Dublin Castle before high noon to-morrow, an’ God spareth my 
life !” 

After exchanging a friendly shake-hands with Archbishop 
O’Kelly, Bishop French aad Bishop Kirwan, the sturdy disciple 
of Ignatius strode down the hall, greeted as he passed with 
many a fervent blessing from those of the old blood, while most 
of the Anglo-Irish looked somewhat coldly upon him. But 
little cared the Jesuit for cold looks — no man, perchance, on 
Irish ground, had braved death oftener than he, and his bold 
spirit seemed to soar to yet more daring heights whenever danger 
became more imminent — where duty or charity called him, 
there he went, deterred by no obstacle, his inventive genius 
surmounting all, as his great personal courage and iron will 
raised him - above all. In those days of terrible persecution, 
many a poor Catholic would have gone to his account “ una- 
nointed, unanneal’d,” were it not for the ubiquitous and all-pene- 
trating Jesuit who, under one disguise or another, contrived to 
find his way full often to the gloomiest dungeons in search of his 
suffering brethren, the victims of Parsons’ insatiate cruelty.f 
His valuable services were known and fully appreciated by all 

*Lord Muskerry had espoused the Lady Eleanor Butler, sister of 
the Marquis. 

t Thomas Quin, a Jesuit, stationed at Dublin in 1642, was untiring 
in his religious exertions and used occasionally to attire himself as a 
soldier, a gentleman, or a peasant, to elude the vigilance of the Puri- 
tans, in order to gain access to the houses of t e Catholics. Gil- 
bert’s Dublin, p 221. 

The adventures of this remarkable man would of themselves fur- 
nish an interesting volume. 


288 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


classes of the Confederates, but being himself of the old blood, 
the English of the Pale were at times somewhat shy of him on 
account of his great influence — when Bishop French summoned 
liim as a witness against Ormond, he well knew that no one present 
would dare controvert his assertions openly, and that if the fatal 
policy of the Ormond party prevailed, as, from their numbers 
in the council, he feared it would, they would have to carry it 
out in the face of such testimony as even they could not r,eject. 

A few. days more and Nicholas French rose again in the 
council-chamber to renew the subject of the cessation.” Dis- 
patches had that morning arrived from Owen Roe O’Neill, dated 
from the borders of Westmeath, and stating that the country 
up to that point was all in the hands of the Confederates — with 
the exception of Carrickfergus and a few other garrison towns in 
the. far north. This announcement excited no small surprise, 
especially amongst the Norman lords present. 

“ Truly,” said Lord Gormanstown, “ it was about time for 
O’Neill to bestir himself. An’ he lay on his oars much longer 
the battle would have been well nigh over. lie is a slow man 
and over-cautious, I opine.” 

“ The more like the tortoise in the fable, my lord,” said Bishop 
French with sly emphasis, “ you begin to see now what he can 
do when he deemeth his weapons tempered for use. Scarce two 
weeks have passed since he took the field in good earnest, and, 
with the single exception of that aflair at Clones, his course 
hath been marked by brilliant success. A good beginning, 
surely !” 

“ Well enough for the time,” said the peer coldly, “ but some- 
what early in his career to count on.” 

“ My Lord Gormanstown,” said the Bishop, “I would have 
you take notice that General O’Neill hath done more in the two 
weeks last past than any of our commanders hath done in as 
many months — no disrespect to them, either — but ” 

“ Does your lordship mean to oist a slur on the others,” put 
in Gormanstown abruptly, “ to exalt O’Neill’s prowess and what 
not, at the exnense of those who have borne the burden and 
heat of tlie day 

“ An’ it go to that,” returned the prelate, “ yoi>r lordship can- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


289 


not but know that there be many who think those generals of 
whom you speak might have done more with the time and op- 
portunities they had ” 

“ My lord of Ferns,” said Gormanstown, pale with anger, 
“ this language of yours were better explained. You would not 
have us think ” 

“ I crave your lordship’s pardon,” said the Bishop, with that 
mild yet firm gravity which ever belonged to him, “ I crave 
your lordship’s pardon, an’ my speech be not to your liking. 
Truth must be told, nevertheless, and since you put it to me, I 
do say, speaking in the interests of our Confederation, that with 
the forces at his command, and the great abundance of all need- 
ful things which he hath had from the first beginning, I do say 
before this honorable council, that which thousands say else- 
where, to wit, that General Thomas Preston hath not pressed 
Ormond as he might have done. An’ ho met that false lord 
face to face, now that his army is so greatly weakened and ours 
in such fair condition, our colors were flying ere this on Dublin 
Castle.”* 

“ So little being done, then,” said Gormanstown, in a sarcas- 
tic tone, “ wherefore doth your lordship object to a cessation of 
hostilities T* 

“ Far be it from me, lord of Gormanstown, to say that little 
hath been done; it is because much hath been done. Divine 
Providence assisting, that I hold the cessation inexpedient — had 
less been done on our side, no such proposition would ever have 
come from the enemy, and the very fact of their making it, 
proves to a certainty their weakness and our strength.” 

“But, admitting that, my reverend lord,” said Muskerry, 
“ in what way wull the cessation injure us 1 — an’ it give tlio 
enemy twelve months’ rest, it will give us the same — we shall 
be, at least, nothing worse than we are now.” 

* Ormond, who had left Dublin at the head of 6 000 men, accom- 
panied by Lord Lambert, failed to bring Preston to an action ; nor 
did the conduct of this general fail to engender suspicion, for he had 
an army which was well supplied, whilst that of the Marquis was, 
according to the testimony of Carte, “ ready to starve for want of 
provisions.” — Meehan’s Confederation^ p. 70. 

13 


290 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ That I deny, my lord,” said the far-seeing prelate, “ that I 
deny in toto. We, having the advantage, ought to follow it up. 
Strike while the iron is hot, said the wise men of old. Our 
armies are now elated with success, agree to the Cessation 
^ and you cool them down, ay, marry, as much as Ormond 
himself could desire. Push on the war now, and, as God 
liveth, the Cross will he triumphant in this land, and the 
wiles of the oppressor brought to nought before the year 
is out. Make a truce with the enemy and you stop the 
victorious career of our generals and damp the courage Oi 
their troops. Here hath Sir John Burke brought well nigh 
the whole of Connaught into subjection, so that even Clanrick- 
arde’s Galway hath had to capitulate.* Castlehaven and Preston 
are far ahead of the enemy in Leinster — our old friend Barry, 
with the aid of my Lord Castlehaven, hath humbled the pride 
of Inchiquin and Vavasour in Munster, and we know that Owen 
Roe and the northern chieftains hold Ulster in safe keeping for 
us. My lords, an’ you make a truce now you arrest the uplifted 
arms of your warriors and leave them standing as fools face to 
face with the enemy. It were madness, I say, madness” — he 
paused and looked around on the pale faces and contracted 
brows of the nobles, then rapidly added, “ either madness or 
something worse !” 

The vehemence with which the prelate spoke was not without 
its effect on those who heard him. Be their sympathies as they 
might, the lay-lords had no arguments to bring forward in op- 
position to those of Dr. French, and, hoping to gain time, they 

* The siege of Galway was pressed with vigor ; and so straitened 
was Willoughby, that he offered to surrender the fort to the Marquis 
of Clanrickarde, after Rear-Admiral Brooke had failed to throw in 
supplies. Burke would not hear of such an overture, unless the Mar- 
quis consented to take the Confederate oath, which he sternly re- 
fused, and the parliamentary general surrendered the fortresses of 
-Galway and Oranmore to the heroic Burke on the 20th of June. 
Three days afterwards a squadron entered the bay, but the colors of 
the Confederates were streaming from the flag-staff. The Archbishop 
of Tuam was one of the parties who drew up the articles with Wil- 
loughby ; and this infamous murderer was permitted to depart in 
peace. — Corifcderation, p. 71. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


291 


appeared to give in somewhat, especially as they saw that the 
prelates were all ranged against them. 

Leaving the lords of the Pale to digest at leisure the unanswer- 
able reasoning of the Bishop of Ferns, let us glance for a mo- 
ment at Castlehaven’s proceedings in Munster, whither, as the 
Bishop intimated, he had been sent to assist General Barry, then 
pressed rather hard by the united forces of Inchiquin and Va- 
vasour. 

Kilmallock was besieged by a strong force under Lord Inchi- 
quin himself, and to raise the siege was the first and most press- 
ing duty of Castlehaven. It is true he had been somewhat un- 
willing to undertake that expedition, but, once fairly into it, his 
spirit rose with the occasion, and he marched from Kilkenny in 
gallant style, with that military parade of which he was fonder 
than most men. He had with him as aid-de-camp, Captain 
Fitzgerald, better known as Garret-Garrough, an oflScer who 
stood high in his estimation. Learning that Barry and Purcell 
were in the neighborhood of Cashel, thither Castlehaven bent 
his course, and in the shadow of the old Bock, flung far and 
wide by the summer-day’s sun, the two generals formed a junc- 
tion, their united forces amounting to about 3,000, well trained 
and well provided. In addition to this regular force of horse 
and foot, Castlehaven had at his command a novel appendage to 
an army in the shape of a numerous troop of boys, mounted on 
light, fieet horses. Doubtless the grim veterans who followed 
Inchiquin’s banner would have smiled in scorn at sight of 
these puny warriors, with their slight, boyish figures and fair 
unsunned faces, and javelins as light as if meant for pastime. 
And yet they were not to be despised, as their general well 
knew, for within those boyish forms were the spirits of grown 
men, hearts undaunted, and souls of fire, prompt to do and dare 
what their seniors well might shrink from. 

Moving rapidly on Kilmallock, Lord Castlehaven was met by 
scouts with the surprising intelligence that Inchiquin had raised 
the siege and marched away by night towards the Kerry moun- 
tains,* detaching Vavasour with some 1700 men on an expedi- 
tion to Castle-Lyons, it was thought, in the county Cork. 

* This circumstance alone is sufficient to prove the high reputation 


292 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Castle-Lyons, however, was not the object of that forced 
march of Vavasour, nor would Inchiquin have detached such a 
force from his own for the capture of any village. But in the 
neighborhood was the Castle of Clog^ileigh, so gallantly taken 
by the Condons, as the reader will remember, and held ever 
since by our old acquaintance, Arthur, for the Confederates. 
Dear to the vengeful heart of Inchiquin was the thought of 
wholesale massacre, and he had sworn a fearful oath that the 
sept of the Condons should be extinguished in blood ere the war 
was over. 

Now Barry well remembered brave Arthur Condon, and his 
taking of the castle with such masterly skill and heroic valor, 
and he started in terror when he heard of the direction taken 
by Vavasour. Going at once to Castlehaven, he urged him to 
set forth in pursuit without a moment's delay. 

“ Haste, haste, my lord,” said the chivalrous veteran ; “haste, 
I charge you for Christ’s dear sake. Haste an’ you would save 
some four score odd of the bravest fellows on Irish ground — by 
Our Lady, we cannot go fast enough, let us ride our best !” 

Castlehaven had heard the tale ere then, and, truth to tell, he 
was fain to succor the gallant Condon as man could be. Start- 
ing, then, in pursuit of Vavasour, the army marched night and 
day till a mountain only separated them from the enemy. It 
was Condon’s Country, and beyond that mountain lay Cloghleigh 
Castle. It was evening, Saturday evening, and a troop of horse 
was dispatched to watch the motions of the enemy. The cavalry 
officer to whom that charge was entrusted was a tall, stately 
man, in the prime of life, with a strongly marked, yet rather 
handsome countenance, reminding you of some one you had 
seen, and once seen never forgotten. It was a startling thing to 
find the living likeness of Ormond in the Confederate camp, and 
yet it was easily explained — that captain of dragoons was Richard 
Butler, brother to the great Marquis, and brother-in-law of Lord 

which tho Confederate armies had by this time gained, seeing that 
Lord Inchiquin had at the siege of Kilmallock a torce of 7,000 men, 
as Castlehaven positively states in his Memoirs, whereas the Con- 
federates, as wo have seen, numbered no more than 3,000 regular 
soldiers. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


293 


Castlehaven, a stauncti adherent of the national cause, and as 
true a Catholic as ever bent knee before an altar. Like many 
another of the Norman nobles engaged in that struggle, Richard 
Butler embarked therein in all sincerity, and fought on the side 
of truth and justice as became a Christian knight, until the 
poison from his brother’s lips gradually diffused itself into 
Richard’s heart, and he learned to distrust his fellow-Catholics of 
the old blood. At the time of which we write, however, there 
was not one of the Confederates more heartily devoted to the 
cause than Richard Butler, of Kilcash, and it pleased him well 
to be sent on such an errand that fair summer’s eve. 

The hours of the short midsummer night passed slowly and 
heavily in the Confederate camp, just three miles from the 
castle. Every soul, from the generals down to the horse-boys 
who cared their steeds, was anxious for the fate of the brave 
Cond ons ; yet it was thought unsafe to proceed further till the 
enemy’s motions were ascertained with certainty. All that 
night the Confederates kept watching and listening, but no 
sounds of strife came on the breeze, and they hoped that the 
Puritans, like themselves, were awaiting the morning light for 
action. 

Fatal security ; fatal delay ! With the earliest dawn came 
the far-off roll of musketry and the heavy booming of tlTe can- 
nonade. Instantly the drums beat to arms, and the army was 
in motion without a moment’s delay — alas ! too late. Before 
the last man had quitted the place of encampment, word was 
brought to Lord Castlehaven that Cloghleigh Castle had been 
taken by Vavasour, and the heroic garrison cut to pieces, when 
marching out on honorable terms.* Butler had only arrived in 
time to witness the sad catastrophe, and small as his force was, 
he immediately attacked the base cut-throats, without pausing 
to consider the fearful odds against him. 

With the vengeful cry of “ Butler Aboo !” his followers rushed 
headlong on the enemy, and before he had recovered the confu- 
sion following that fierce onslaught, the Irish trumpets gave 
note of the army’s rapid approach. 

i.*.See Castlehaven’fl l* p. 40. 


294 


THE SONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Now, Vavasour,” cried Richard Butler, “ accounting-time 
is near; so sure as God is in heaven, you shall rue this cruel 
outciiery — keep your ground, my men, and fix bayonets — let 
them charge our bristling steel !— for God and our murdered 
friends this day !” 

Whilst Vavasour and his officers were vainly endeavoring to 
surround the gallant little troop so as to cut off their retreat, the 
.leads of the Confederate columns were seen crossing the moun- 
tain’s brow — it was but the cavalry, however, under Lord 
Castlehaven, Barry with the infantry being left far behind, and 
fiying in squadrons on either side like winged messengers of 
wrath, came the boy-horsemen, blithe and active as mountain 
goals. 

Vavasour, knowing the Confederate army at hand, had sent 
off his cannon and baggage towards Fermoy, fearing their cap- 
ture by the enemy, and now he had to encounter the avenging 
army of the Confederates without as much as a piece of ord- 
nance. Seeing the large body of cavalry approaching, the 
Puritans made another desperate effort to cutoff Butler’s troop, 
but with incredible dexterity they kept hovering on the fiank, 
acting only on the defensive till the loud huzzas of their com- 
rades told them that succor was at hand, and then in on the 
enemy they dashed at one side just as Castlehaven’s men did at 
the other. Their joint attack was so overwhelming that Vava- 
sour gave orders for his foot to move slowly on towards the 
river, hoping that the cavalry might be able to cover their re- 
treat by keeping the Confederates engaged. He reckoned with- 
out his host, however, for while the two divisions of the Irish 
cavalry pressed furiously on his fianks, the rear was harassed by 
the pertinacious attack of the boy-cavaliers, who, with their 
light, sharp lances, did much execution, goading on both men 
and horses, caracolling around with strange velocity as they 
darted their javelins, yelling and hooting the while after their 
boyish fashion.* The Confederate cavalry fought well that day, 

* “ That troop of boys, moantod on fleet horses, was pressing on the 
forlorn hope, not after the fashion of drilled and disciplined men, 
but rather like ‘the Moorish and Getulian horsemen,’ says Borlase, 

‘ mentioned by Sallust in Jugarth’s war.’ ” — Meehan’s Confederation. 


TIIS CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


205 


and the Paritana fell beneath their blows like forest-trees when 
the storm sweeps through their midst, but the brilliant victory 
they gained was due as much to tsat youthful band of heroes 
with their wild, untrained valor, as to the more systematic at- 
tack of their seniors-in-arms. Almost surrounded as they 
were, and maddened by the strange annoyance from behind, 
which their horses felt still more than themselves, the Puritan 
cavalry at last gave way, and were driven forward on their own 
infantry, trampling them down with fearful slaughter. The 
whole fell into confusion, and horse and foot broke and fled be- 
fore the avenging arms of the Confederates. But after them 
dashed Castlehaven and Butler with their valiant dragoons, and 
around and before them hovered “ the boys to crown their 
misfortune Vavasour himself was taken prisoner, and after that 
the rout became general. Many officers were taken prisoners, 
and 600 of Vavasour's best soldiers “ were killed between the 
Manning-water and Fermoy.” Even their cannon was overtaken 
and captured, and their colors all fell into the hands of the 
C onfederates. 

Bloodily was the murder of the gallant Condons avensed 
that day, and the rumor of that great victory gave new life and 
hope to the Confederates all over the kingdom. 



200 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ The death-shot hissing from afar, 

The shock, the shout, the groan of war.” 

Byron’s Giaour. 

“ I know the action was extremely wrong ; 

I own it, I deplore it, I condemn it ; 

But I detest all fiction, even in song. 

And so must tell the truth, howe’er you blame it !” 

Byron's Don Juan. 

Scarce had Castlehaven’s splendid victory over Vavasour 
been reported in Kilkenny when other couriers came dashing 
in from the border county of Meath with as stirring tidings from 
Owen Roe. That chieftain had taken up a strong position at 
Portlester, a few miles from Trim, where Sir James Dillon had 
joined him with a small but effective force. All was likely to be 
needed, for the clansmen had little more than time to exchange 
a friendly greeting with the stout Palesmen who marched under 
Dillon’s banner when news came in that Lord Moore was ap- 
proaching at the head of a strong force. 

“ Let him come,” said O’Neill quietly ; “ with the help of 
God and our good neighbors of the Pale here we are well able 
for him.” 

Just as Moore’s cavalry came in sight, another messenger 
came riding in, his horse all covered with foam and himself 
panting for breath. 

“ In God’s name, what tidings bring you V' said the general 
with some anxiety. 

” Colonel Moncke is advancing from Wicklow ” 

” Cometh he this way V' 

“ Even so, general, and fast enough, too, as poor Mullingar 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 297 

here — tnat’s my horse, please your nobleness !— can tell to 
his cost, the creature ! Dear knows, we had a nard ride of it, 
himself and me, to give you the word in time !” 

“ You have done well, my brave fellow,’* said Owen, unable 
to repress a smile even at that critical moment ; “ take Mullingar 
and yourself to the rear and refresh yourselves.” 

“But Colonel Moncke will be here in no time, general, and 
the other villains are close at hand yonder. I’m afeard — I’m 
afeard it will go hard with you !” 

“ Never you mind that, honest fellow, but do as I told yon !” 
and away rode Owen to where he had a breastwork thrown up 
over night — behind it now lay the choicest marksmen of his 
army. 

“ God’s blessing be about him every day he rises,” ejaculated 
the sturdy scout, looking after him with admiring eyes, “ see 
how well he doesn’t forget Mullingar or mein all the stir. Lord 
save us all this day, what a mighty great army there is of them — 
the black-hearted villains. Holy Mother ! save our fine brave 
Catholics from them, for it’s you that can, and I’m sure you 
will, too — well, come along, Mullingar ! you or me couldn’t do 
much till we get something in our bellies — if we once had that, 
my good fellow, we’ll have a chance at the murdering crew 
yonder — it will go hard with us or this good pike of mine makes 
them one the less, anyhow !” 

Meanwhile Owen Roe paid a visit to his grand stronghold, to 
wit, an old mill which he had found there in good condition, and 
in which he had posted threescore men, with some pieces of 
cannon mounted on the walls. Standing on the crown of a 
gentle acclivity, and rearing itself to a considerable height, 
the building commanded no small portion of the level country 
around, and O’Neill’s skilful eye was not slow to discover the 
advantage it afforded. He no sooner heard of Moore’s approach 
than he placed the great body of his troops in a position which 
concealed them from the advancing enemy ; the mill and the 
elevation on which it stood being flanked by a grove of ancient 
beech and sycamore furnished an effectual screen. 

The preparations were hardly completed when up, at a gal- 
lop, came Lord Moore and his cavalry, hastening on in advance 


298 


THE confederate CHIEFTAINS. 


of the foot with the eagerness of men sure of victory. The 
mill and the wood were before them, and O’Neill’s defences, but 
O’Neill’s men were only visible in such numbers as their wily 
general chose to show. 

“ Victory will have small merit here,” said Moore contempt- 
uously, ” a mere handful of Irish kern. They have garrisoned 
yonder mill, I see ! and breastworks, forsooth !— on, on, men, 
on ! — we can take that with our broad-swords !” — and he pointed 
with his own — “ be sure you let not a man of them escape ” 

Still no sign of life amongst the Irish, and on rode the fierce 
Puritan soldiers, all elate with the thought of the utter extermina- 
tion commanded by their chief, when all at once from the old 
mill came the thundering peal of artillery, and a dense volume 
of smoke — a cry of horror from the Puritans, and the lifeless 
body of their leader rolled from his horse to the ground. A 
cannon-ball had pierced his stony heart ; the Catholics had lost 
an inveterate foe, and the oppressor a willing and powerful agent. 

Following up their advantage, the Irish rushed from their 
cover, and darted, horse and foot, on the panic-stricken enemy 
with their terrible war-cry : ” Lamh dearg aboo!” headed by 
Owen Roe himself, while Dillon and O’Rourke made a detour on 
either hand in order to cut off the enemy’s retreat. Disheart- 
ened by the fall of their general, and bewildered by the unex- 
pected appearance of such a force, the Puritans were easily 
thrown into confusion, and turning the rein attempted to fly. 
But the broad-swords and battle-axes of the Irish were whirling 
around them, and the wild death-shout rang ever in their ears : 
“ Death to the black-hearted stranger !” and to crown their 
misfortune, their own infantry, unknowing what had happened, 
now met them in the way, barring their onward progress. 

Lord Moore and his troopers had long been the terror of the 
border-country, and the memory of many a bloody contest, and 
many a dismal scene of slaughter, whetted tlie Confederates’ 
swords that day. Like a whirlwind they rushed on the retreat- 
ing foe, dealing death and justice at every blow, until the enemy 
were forced to cry for quarter, and then Owen Roe’s sonorous 
voice was heard above the roar of battle commanding his people 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


299 


to desist. The work of death was suddenly stopped, and each 
applied himself to secure his prisoners. 

“ Now God be praised !” cried Owen O’Neill, “ such a victory 
I did not dare to hope for.” 

“ Something was telling me all the time,” said the owner of 
Mullingar as he leisurely wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve j 
and mounted his four-footed friend, “ something was telling me i 
we were to have the best of it this time.” 

“And now for Moncke!” said Owen Roe in a cheerful voice 
to Dillon on his right, “ I would he were here while our fellows’ 
blood is up !” 

But Moncke came not then or again — ho had heard of Lord 
Moore’s death and the total route of his forces, and he wisely 
turned aside from O'Neill’s path, the more willingly as his regi- 
ment was literally in a starving condition.* 

In much the same state was the whole Munster army under 
Lord Inchiquin, then Vice-President of that Province. “ He 
had received no supplies from England, except a regiment with- 
out arms, which he thought were sent only to accelerate his 
ruin; bringing neither money, nor provision, nor even the 

hopes of either thinking, then, the loss of the 

Province to be inevitable, and fearing the ruin of many 
thousand Protestants, it was resolved in a council of war to 
cause the ships of Lord Forbes’ squadron, in the harbor of Kin- 
sale, to be stayed and drawn ashore, that they might be ready 

* It was about this time that the officers of the English army in 
Ireland, being unable to obtain the means of subsistence from the 
Lords Justices and the Irish Government, were reduced to the last 
extremity of want; wherefore, says Warner, they made a second 
application to the Justices and Council r and despairing of relief from 
them, they drew up at the same time an address to the king ; repre- 
senting that their case was now become so desperate, through their 
fruitless applications to the English Parliament, “that unless his! 
majesty should interpose they could not discover anything that might 
stand betwixt them and absolute destruction.”— Gini/ Wars, Book 
IV., p. 244. 


300 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


to receive and transport those people to England, who must 
otherwise have been exposed either to the sword or famine.’^’* 

The Confederates, on the other hand, were well supplied with 
all things needful for carrying on the war ; the booming of 
O’Neill’s cannon all along the borders of the Pale was echoed 
back by Castlehaven’s and Barry’s from the walls of Munster, 
while the distant shores of Lough Corrib and Galway Bay 
resounded with the joyous cheers of Burke’s all-conquering 
army. 

Things were at this pass, and the truce postponed for one 
month, when, towards the end of July, there appeared before 
the Supreme Council in Kilkenny an Italian ecclesiastic, Sca- 
rampi by name, an humble priest of the Oratory, a thin spare 
man, of a mild yet penetrating countenance, and a small well- 
formed head, bent slightly forward, as it were, from the habit of 
subjection. There was little to distinguish Father Pietro Fran- 
cisco from any other member of a religious order, nor was tljere 
in his bearing aught that savored of arrogant pretension, and 
yet the proud nobles of the Pale bowed reverently before him, 
and the stateliest prelate there addressed him in a tone of defer- 
ence. And why was this I Why, because that humble Orato- 
rian came to them from the Court of Rome, bearing bulls accord- 
ing a jubilee and many other spiritual privileges to those who 
had taken up arms for the faith in Ireland. 

“ And furthermore,” said the reverend ambassador, “ our 
Holy Father, knowing that your valiant soldiers have also much 
need of carnal weapons wherewith to combat the enemy, hath, 
of his goodness, and of his own resources, sent you what he 
could, at this present, of arms and ammunition, the which, 
being landed at Wexford, will be here anon, to be distributed as 
seemcth good to you.” 

The expression of gratitude on the part of the council, by 
its venerable president, was abruptly broken in on by our old 
acquaintance, Tirlogh O’Neill, who was one of the members. 

” May it please your reverence,” said he in his blunt way, 

* Thld.., p. 255. Here we see from unexceptionable Protestant author- 
ity to what straits the Puritans were reduced. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


301 


“ there is no need to hurry — the valiant soldiers aforesaid have 
grown tired, it seems, of hard knocks, and must needs patch up 
a peace, come what will o’t.” 

“What sayeth the noble Signori” demanded Scarampi of the 
Arclibishop of Dublin. 

The prelate explained in Latin, whereupon Father Scarampi 
was much amazed. 

“ In that case,” said he, “ our reverend friend, Luke Wadding, 
must have deceived his Holiness, in that he hath represented 
your affairs as being in such flourishing condition that but little 
more was needed to secure the nation’s independence and the 
full rights of our Holy Church in this realm of Ireland. I marvel 
much an’ it be so, for Luke hath been ever esteemed among us 
a man of rare probity and great wisdom.” 

There was a sly undercurrent of humor in this speech, which 
did not escape the Irish members of the council, such of them, 
at least, as understood the pure Roman Latin, in which it was 
spoken. The truth was the good Padre had heard of the pro- 
posed cessation on his way from Wexford to Kilkenny, but he 
knew too little of the state of parties to comprehend the selfish 
motives of its advocates in the council. 

“ Padre Scarampi,” said the uncompromising Archbishop of 
Tuam, “ Father Wadding’s veracity standeth unimpeached in 
this matter. God hath been pleased to bless our arms in such 
wise as, for the time, may be deemed little short of a miracle. 
Our armies are at this hour in possession of three provinces, with 
no small share of the fourth — we have men, money and arms, 
with provisions almost at will, and have so cornered the enemy 
everywhere that they scarce know which way to turn them, 
the while they have grown so lean from sheer hunger that one 
man of ours is equal to two or three of them. I know not if 
Ormond himself hath had a full meal of late.” 

“ My Lord Archbishop,” said Muskerry sharply, “ you forget 
of whom you speak !” 

“ Surely no, my lord, surely no,” said the prelate with some 
severity ; “ I am not oblivious of the respect due from me — from 
all of us — to James Butler of Ormond — and to his friends in this 
council !” he added significantly. Tirlogh O’Neill rubbed his 


802 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


hands and chuckled right gleefully while Mountgarret and 
Muskerry, Gonnanstown, and the rest of that set, looked tlie 
daggers which they did not choose to put in words. 

“ But Uie peace V inquired the Oratorian — “ what of the 
peace*? Your affairs being in such fair condition — you having 
the best of the battle, as you say, wherefore, in God’s name, 
consent to a peace which must needs be of advantage to your 
enemies, seeing that it is they who seek it?” 

The Archbishop turned with a smile and bowed to Lord 
Mountgarret who had been talking in a low earnest tone with 
some of the other lay peers. Mustering as much composure as 
he could assume, the President hastened to explain that the 
country was well nigh exhausted by a two years’ war, and the 
brave soldiers of the Catholic armies stood in need of rest 

“ I crave your lordship’s pardon,” said Philip O’Reilly, but 
' I knew not before that our soldiers were tired of the war. An’ 
they had a voice in this matter, there should be no peace till we 
had gained our ends at the sword’s point. Methinks Ormond 
himself could not wheedle them into laying down their amis at 
this present, without good security for the payment of some, at 
least, of the old debt. I pray your lordship, therefore, not to 
drag ‘ our brave soldiers’ through the mire which hath gathered 
around this question. Say rather that the bond of confedera- 
tion hath been found irksome, and that some amongst us do 
esteem the favor of my Lord Ormond, and that thing which 
they call loyalty to the king’s majesty, far above the interests 
of our common faith and the re-establishment of our long-lost 
rights.” 

This speech, bold, and manly, and straightforward as became 
the O’Reilly, caused the Ormondists to wince, and, being inter- 
preted to the Pope’s ambassador, elicited from him a smile of 
approbation. Stranger as he was, he quickly observed the 
shirking, temporizing way in which the question of the truce 
was treated by the large majority of the council, and before he 
quitted their presence that day, he gave them plainly to under- 
stand what he thought of the matter. 

“ In the name of his Holiness Urban VIIL,” said he, “I do 
protest against this peace, unless, indeed, it be a lasting peace. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


303 


honorable to yourselves as soldiers of the Cross, and of solid 
advantage to your Holy Mother the Church, on whose behalf 
you took up arms. An’ your grievances be not at once reme- 
died, and your rights as Christians and as freemen placed on a 
firm basis, no peace — no truce, say I — follow up your successes 
by yet greater efforts — Catholic Europe will aid you, so that you 
shall want for nothing — the more you do, the more will be done 
for you — so sayeth the Father of the faithful, so sayeth your 
trusty and approved friend, Luke Wadding — so say the great 
and the noble of my own land, and in proof thereof, my Lord 
Mountgarret, there is the sum of 30,000 dollars received by 
Father Wadding from certain of our Italian nobles towards de- 
fraying the expenses of this righteous war.” 

And he placed on the table the munificent contribution worthy 
the nobleness and generosity of those from whom it came. Due 
acknowledgments being made on the part of the Confederated 
Catholics, Archbishop O’Kelly requested the Padre to state 
precisely the purpose for which the money w^as intended. 

“ Otherwise,” said he, “ reverend father, we may have it ex- 
pended for the purchase of a peace — money is a rare commodity 
amongst our enemies in these days, and even the lordly palm of 
Ormond might not shrink from being greased with Italian gold 
— an’ he cajole our lords into a cessation of arms with such odds 
in our favor, he might e’en persuade them that our money were 
as well vested in his hands — I pray you see to that, good Father !” 

“ Most reverend lord,” said Scarampi in reply, “ there can be 
no mistake regarding the intentions of the donors. We in 
Italy heard much of the extraordinary efibrts made by a brave 
and faithful but impoverished nation to avenge its wrongs and 
recover its rights — we heard of the puissant valor of Owen 
O’Neill, and Burke, and Barry, and many more, and what things 
they had done on behalf of God’s people — of Ormond, too, w’o 
heard, and Inchiquin, and Broghill, and other great captains of 
the enemy’s host, but as God liveth, my lords and gentlemen, we 
heard not that any of the gallant Confederate Chieftains had 
opened their ears — or hearts — to the poisonous breath of the 
enemy. We heard not, in the halls of the Vatican, of truce or 
treaty spoken of here in Ireland— we heard only of battles and 


S04 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


sieges, and the noise of a fierce struggle, and our hearts did 
burn, yea ! even the paternal heart of Urban, to send timely 
succor to those who battled for the right — had we heard of par- 
leying, and truce-making, and such like, methinks yonder gold 
were still in the coffers of those who sent it so freely. Pardon 
me, lords and gentlemen, if I, a stranger, speak so plainly in 
this matter, but standing here, as I do, to represent the Sovereign 
Pontiff, I would ill discharge my duty did I not enter my solemn 
piotest against a measure which I know would, if carried out, 
undo much of the glorious work already done.” 

Mountgarret and his .friends excused themselves in the best 
way they could, with many asseverations of devotion to the 
cause, assuring the Padre at the same time that there were two 
sides to the question, whereas he saw but one. They labored 
hard to make him understand the friendly dispositions of Lord 
Ormond. 

“ As evinced by the massacre at Timolin,” interrupted Col- 
onel McMahon, who was also a member of the Council. 

This sharp retort, duly interpreted to the Italian by one of 
the bishops, so disconcerted the “ peace-cabal” (as his Grace of 
Tuam aptly called them in a whisper), that they knew not well 
what subterfuge to have recourse to, and were fain to adjourn 
till the following day. A severe rebuke w’as first administered 
to McMahon for his contumacious language. The chieftain of 
Uriel bowed and smiled, and expressed his regret that he had 
not sooner known the close sympathy between the Marquis and 
the honorable Council. It was worth something, however, to 
know it even then. ^ 

The strenuous opposition of the Pope’s ambassador, the biting 
sarcasms of the Irish chieftains, and the avowed displeasure of 
the bishops, had all and each their effect on the time-serving 
lords of the Pale and their adherents in the council. Anxious 
to oblige Lord Ormond, and to obtain peace on any terms, they 
yet shrank from the formidable array of the opposition, strength- 
ened by the earnest expostulation of Osven Roe, who, unable to 
leave his post on the borders, forwarded his views to the council, 
couched in language rather strong for their liking. It was at 
this juncture that Lord Castlehaven arrived in Kilkenny, post- 


THE. CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


305 


haste from the South. He had heard of the proposed truce 
while enjoying a brief interval of rest at his brothers house, 
and lost no time in appearing before the council with all the 
leading members of the Ormond party whom he could find in 
town.* Brave soldier as he was, and successful general, Cas- 
tlehaven was already tired of the war, and that because his heart 
had never been with the Confederates. He was driven into their 
ranks by the cruel injustice of the government affecting himself 
personally, and, strongly imbued with a contemptuous dislike 
of the old Irish, he never could, or never did, completely identify 
himself with them in the quarrel. If he fought, it was for his 
own reputation, and to gratify the inordinate self-conceit w'hich 
was one of his most jirominent characteristics. Cherishing a 
profound re-^pect for Ormond, it was never with his will he had 
drawn the sword against him, and looked eagerly for an oppor- 
tunity of ingratiating himself once more with that powerful 
nobleman. 

Taking with him, then. Sir Richard Barnewell, Sir Robert 
Talbot, Colonel Bagnell, “ and such others as were in town well 
affected, and leading men in the Assembly, though not of the 
Council,” his volatile lordship entered the hall where the council 
w’as sitting, having first agreed with his “ well-affected” friends 
that “ if they would stick to him he would give tbe matter such 
a turn” as would serve them all,f to wit, carry out Ormond’s 
politic designs to the satisfaction of that nobleman, and thus 
secure his favor. 

This unexpected reinforcement so strengthened the hands of 
Mountgarret, Muskerry, and the other Ormondists, that they 
immediately assumed a high tone and frowned down all attempts 
at opposition. Even the honest and conscientious efforts of 
Scarampi, backed by the expressed wishes of the Pope, sank 
into insignificance before the supercilious airs of Castlehaven 
with the prestige of victory around him. 

It was not without a hard struggle that Scarampi, the bishops 
and the chiefs, were defeated. Defeated, however, they were, 
owing to the overwhelming majority of Ormond’s friends (many 


* See his Memoirs^ p. 41. 


t Memoirs, -p 41. 


306 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


of them his near relations) in the council. In the last stormy 
debate, Castlehaven, irritated by the firm resistance of the clergy 
and their adherents, was heard to mutter between his teeth a 
bitter invective against “ such turbulent and factious opposition.” 

This roused the ire of the native chieftains, several of whom 
were on their feet in a moment. 

“Ah, Touchet! Touchet!* it’s in you for the taking out!” 
cried Tirlogh O’Neill, shaking his clenched fist at him ; ” this 
comes of your underhand dealings with — you know who 1” 

” Master Tirlogh O’Neill,” said the haughty peer with a 
withering smile, ” I must decline noticing such scurrilous re- 
marks applied to myself — it may not be amiss to inform you, 
natheless, that there be some of our noisiest patriots — mayhap 
near akin to yourself — whose ‘ underhand dealings’ are none 
the safer to the Confederates that they be with one of your own 
generals — nor spite nor envy hath aught to do with my rela- 
tions to the cause — hear you that, Tirlogh O’Neill I” 

The brother of Sir Phelim could not but feel this home- 
thrust, for the fact of that chieftain’s intriguing with Preston 
against Owen Koe was patent to all the army. As a match to 
a mine w’as the effect of Castlehaven’s taunt on his irrascible 
temper, and he flew at once into such a passion that nothing 
but the interference of the venerable primate, bis own kinsman, 
could have kept him from drawing his sw^ord on the spot to 
chastise the insolent offender whose provoking coolness and 
indifference exasperated him still the more. Finding that Tir- 
logh would not listen to reason even from him, the Archbishop 
took him gently by the arm and led him from the hall, under 
pretence of saying a word to him in private. The ” word” kept 
him all that day to say, for neither Tirlogh nor his Grace of 
Armagh again appeared. 

Little did Castlehaven heed poor Tirlogh’s honest, blustering 
anger : he and his “ w'ell-affected’* friends had carried, or were 
about to carry, their point, the clergy and the ” turbulent old 
Irish,” notwithstanding. O’Neills and O’Reillys, McMahons and 
O'Rourkes, and all the other ” outside barbarians,” might storm 


* The family name of the Eail. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


307 


and rage for all he cared — Ormond’s good-will once secured, 
and peace established for a whole year, there was no knowing 
what lucky chance might turn up in the interim to put a total stop 
to the war. Truly “ a consummation devoutly to be wished.’* 
As for the money sent by the Pope and other friendly princes, 
it would, in the event of a lasting peace, be found extremely 
useful in defraying the expenses of the king’s struggle with his 
rebellious subjects of England and Scotland. Little knew the 
learned Oratorian w'hat was passing beneath the smiling exte- 
rior of the lay lords and councillors, least of all what specula- 
tions they had with regard to the money and other supplies 
brought by him. He could not approve of the men’s acts, but 
neither could he suspect the extent of their selfishness, or how 
devoted they were at heart to the most dangerous enemy of 
their sacred cause. 

What little effect the presence and the remonstrances of the 
Pope’s agent had on the narrow, selfish policy of the Anglo-Irish 
councillors, will be best understood by what we are about to 
relate. 

About the middle of September, that is to say, some weeks 
after the arrival of Padre Scarampi in Kilkenny, Lord Ormond 
sat in his tent one day where his army was encamped in the 
vicinity of Naas. The curtains of the tent were drawn back, 
giving a view of the ancient town, and Strafford’s unfinished 
Castle of Jigginstown, even then falling into decay,* with many 
a mile of rich champaign country, all gilt and beautified by the 
mellow rays of the autumnal sun shining down in midday glory. 
But dearer than all this to Ormond’s eye was the group of gen- 
tlemen, some of them of right noble mien, standing, hat in hand, 
before the tent with a most submissive and deferential air, not 
unlike to that usually seen on the faces of juvenile offenders, 
when, smarting from parental blows, they present themselves 
for pardon, with a promise “ never to do the like again.” 

* Jigginstown Castle,” says the Parliamentary Gazetteer of 
Ireland, “ situate in the southwestern environs of the town of Naas, 
was commenced on an enormous scale by the unfortunate Earl of 
Strafford, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in the reign of Charlwi I. ; its 
ruins now form a singular and striking object.” 


808 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


As though to mark his insolent contempt of the supplicants, 
the Marquis, forgetful of that high-bred courtesy for which he 
was famed, kept his seat while the others all stood, and, like 
Fitz- James in Scottish song, he 

“ alone wore hat and plume.” 

Grander and prouder even than his wont, he seemed to look 
down from a lofty eminence on those who stood there waiting 
his pleasure, and well he might, for the realm of Ireland con- 
tained not any men that day more worthy of contempt than 
they, although one of them was Lord Muskerry, the Marquis’ 
own brother-in-law, and the others were all of rank only second 
to his own. They were there as commissioners from the Su- 
preme Council of the Confederates, to sign the articles of peace, 
and Ormond treated them in every respect as abject petitioners. 

There was Muskerry — alas ! how fallen from the position he 
occupied on that memorable day when he took the oath of con- 
federation before the altar of old St. Canice, with the banner of 
the MacCarthys waving above him — there was Dillon — not Sir 
James, the friend of O’More, but a very different man. Sir Lucas 
of that name — there was Talbot of Malahide, just where he 
ought to be, bartering away the proud independence which 
O’Neill, and Burke, and Barry had won for his fellow-Catholics— 
there was Barnewell, and Neale, and Brown, and Walsh, and 
Plunket, and, shame to tell ! there was Magennis — happily not 
the Lord of Iveagh, the gallant Sir Con, but a certain Ileher 
Magennis, a kinsman of that chieftain. The half English 
McCarthy,* and this degenerate scion of the house of Iveagh 
were the only men of the nine commissioners who had Irish 
blood in their veins, and assuredly though their blood was Irish 
their hearts were not. 

With an air of supreme condescension the stately Marquis 
complimented the commissioners on the loyal and commendable 
act just consummated, the which indicated a returning sense of 
duty on the part of “ the rebels.” 

* This time-serving Lord Muskerry was afterwards rewarded for 
his betrayal of Catholic interests with the title of Earl of Clancarthy. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


309 


“ Rebels, my lord '1” said Muskerry with some warmth ; *' I 
pray you recall the word, for you cannot but know that the 
King’s highness hath no truer subjects than the Confederate 
Catholics of Ireland !” 

“Well, well!” said Ormond with a satirical smile, “an’ it 
please your lordship better we will say Confederates — good men 
and true no doubt are ye all” — and he laughed a strange inward 
laugh — “ in this thing have ye done well, and no doubt his Grace 
will make all things so smooth during this year’s cessation of 
arms that even the pestilent rebel, O’Neill, and the rest of the 
Irishry, will have no rag of pretence for renewing hostilities.” 

“ Irishry, my Lord Marquis I” repeated Muskerry again with a 
heightened color, while Magennis made a step in advance as 
though half resolved to venture on a word of expostulation — 
his courage, however, failed him as he glanced timidly at the 
frowning brow of Ormond, and he quietly slunk back into his 
place' 

“ Another slip of the tongue,” said the Marquis in a jeering 
/ tone ; “ I pray you, good Donogh ! be not so sharp — between 
friends such mistakes go for nothing. This cessation wdiich I 
have yielded to your necessities, ought, more than nil, to con- 
vince you of my good will.” 

“Pardon me, my lord,” put in Dillon, “our neces itieh are 
not so great — an’ necessities be in the way, they are not on our 
side.” 

“ Pooh I pooh 1” said the Marquis with a well-feigned air of 
incredulity, “ tell that to others knowing less than I do of your 
affairs ” 

“ I do assure your lordship,” began Muskerry, but Ormond 
stopped him with a majestic wave of the hand, and a smile that 
Avas half pity, half scorn. Rising from his seat he summoned 
some oflicers of his staff who stood backwards in the tent, and 
bowed the Confederate delegates out with much apparent cour- 
tesy but real disdain. 

“ But, my lord,” said Muskerry, sorely nettled by such cava- 
lier treatment, “ my lord, we would have a word with you con- 
cerning that matter of the dissolution, seeing that we of the 
ConfeJeration do hold the present parliament illegal, as you 


310 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


well know, and that point hath not been settled to our lik- 



An’ it be not in the articles, brother mine, it is beyond my 


power to arrange it now.” 

“But we understood ” 

“It matters little, Donogh, what you or I understood — the 
articles of treaty are now signed and otherwise perfected — leave 
that matter of the parliament to the king’s majesty, as be- 
cometh loyal and well-afFected subjects.” 

So saying he withdrew with his officers into the inner com- 
partment of his tent, and the commissioners were fain to take 
their way back to Kilkenny, more dissatisfied, all of them, than 
they were willing to own to each other. 

# 

* “ Before the ink in which it (the treaty) was written dried the 
Confederate commissioners discovered that Ormond had no notion of 
calling a new parliament, although he knew that the present one was 
irregular and illegal.” — Meehan, quoting Carte, iii., 430. 



I 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


311 


CHAPTER XXV. 


“ Ah, God ! that ghastly gibbet! 

How dismal *iis to see 
The great tall spectral skeleton 

The ladder and the tree r* 

# # # Vf 

“ He is coming ! he is coming ! 

Like a bridegroom from his room, 

Came the hero from his prison 
To the scaffold and the doom.” 

# # * * 

“ There was color in his visage, 

Tho’ the cheeks of all were wan, 

And they marvell’d as they saw him pass, 

That great and goodly man.” 

“ The grim Geneva ministers, 

With anxious scowl drew near. 

As you have seen the ravens flock 
Around the dying deer. 

He would not deign them word nor sign, 

But alone he bent the knee I 
And veil'd his face for Christ’s dear grace 
Beneath the gallows-tree.” 

Aynton’s Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers — 

Execution qf Montrose. 


When the Catholic Commissioners were, after many week’s 
detention of their Remonstrance in Hnblin, permitted at length 
to proceed to England to lay it before the Kin?, his Majesty 
received them graciously, and after hearing what they had to 
say, and promising to consider the statement of grievances put 
forth in the Trim document, he sent them back with an urgent 
request to Ormond to settle the difficulty with the Confederate 
Catholics as soon as might be. Sorely pressed even then by the 
rebellious armies of his Puritan parliament, he turned with long- 
ing eyes to the victorious Catholics of Ireland, who could alone 
give him permanent and effective succor. This he represented 
to Ormond again and again in his private dispatches, although 
publicly he was still constrained to censure their acts, and 


312 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


speak of them in the cant' phraseology of the day as “ pestifer- 
ous rebels.” 

When the Commissioners returned to Ireland their party was 
increased by a young Protestant lady of rank, who had been 
staying with some relations in London, and was now going back 
to her Irish home furnished with a pass for herself and her 
servant, an aged man who looked as though he might have 
served the lady’s grandsire in a by-gone age. It was not with 
the consent of her English friends that our adventurous fair one 
placed herself under the protection of the Catholic gentlemen, 
but having known Sir Robert Talbot and one or two others of 
their- number in former days in Dublin, slie declared herself 
quite willing to travel in their company. Such opportunities 
being few at that day, and her mother at home being impatient 
for her return, she would not hear of postponing her departure. 

The displeasure of the young lady’s godly relatives would 
have been much increased had they known that on the day 
preceding their departure, she was closetted with Lord Mus- 
kerry, the head of the deputation, for full half an hour. What 
the nature of their conference was may be gathered from the 
])arting words which passed between the Viscount and Emmeline 
Coote, for she it w^as, as the reader has probably guessed. 

“ Fair Mistress Coote,” said he, “ I fear you will bring griev- 
ous trouble on yourself by journeying homewards in our com- 
pany. Your brothers will by no means overlook such an ofTenco 
against Puritan notions of fitness.” 

“ Nay, my good lord, after what I have disclosed to you, 
wherefore speak to me of such matters 1 One who hath devoted 
her life to the attainment of an object, can think of no danger, 
no inconvenience that regardeth only herself. But you really 
deem it unsafe for them to join your retinue V’ 

“ It were certain destruction to them, my good young lady, 
and most like to us, one and all.” 

“ Then you refuse giving them this chance V' 

“ With reluctance I must—'we have passports but for a certain 
number ” 

“ Leave two of your servants behind.” 

Muskerry shook his head. “ It were useless, fair mistress, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


313 


worse than useless — the personal description of your friends is 
too well knd\vn — they could not escape in broad day.” 

” My friends!” repeated Emmeline with rising anger, for she 
saw and despised the pusillanimous fears of Muskerry. “ lile- 
thiuks, Lord Muskerry, they might well be your friends. 
However, I will press you no more — the God who released them 
from their dungeon will provide them with the means of escape. 
I will go to Ireland, as I purposed, but solely with a view to 
their interest — to apprise their true friends of how they be 
situated, and move them to devise some plan for their de- 
liverance.” 

It was a sorrowful parting when Emmeline and old Lorcan 
came to take leave of the two poor captives, virtually as much 
so as when the walls of the Tower lay between them and free- 
dom. Bitter was their indignation when they heard of Musker- 
ry’s cold indifference, so little to be expected from a chief of 
the Confederates. Had they been better acquainted with the 
respective attitudes of the “ old” and ” new Irish” at that time, 
their surprise and disappointment would have been less, but 
knowing nothing of the interaal workings of the Confederation, 
they had thought in their simplicity that no sworn member of 
that body could fail to sympathize with them, or to lay hold of 
even the slightest chance of forwarding their escape. McMahon, 
as usual, tried to laugh it off, saying that they would be even 
with his lordship ere long, but Maguire could not conceal his 
dejection, and when the final moment came he trembled like an 
aspen leaf. In vain did Emmeline conceal her own emotion to 
speak to him of bright days to come — in vain did his brave old 
uncle assure him that it would go hard with the Maguires and 
McMahons (were there none but they) an’ they devised not 
some plan to convey the two safely to Ireland — “and then, 
Connor, my son,” said the veteran warrior, “ and then — you and 
Costelloe here will be in for the best of the sport — the best is 
all to come, and you’ll meet the bloody villains with the red 
sword of vengeance in your hand — son of my heart, you will !’’ 
Poor Connor shook his head sadly, and then in silence they all 
parted — some in hope, some in fear, all in sorrow. 

For some days after the departure of their best friends, Ma- 
14 


S14 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


guire and McMahon were more or less buoyed up with tlie hope 
of a speedy opportunity of returning to Ireland? Days past 
away, however, and weeks, too, and still no nearer prospect of 
escape, no message, no word of hope from home. Shifting about 
, from place to place amongst the few faithful Catholics who were 
'cognizant of their condition, continually in dread of detection, 
and lamenting the risk incurred by those who sheltered them, 
their life was as wretched as could well be imagined. The only 
comfort they had was in being together, for the load of misery 
shared between them was less intolerable, and when they talked 
of the glorious struggle going on at home, and cheered each 
other with the hope of yet girding on the sword and taking their 
rightful place in the van of Ulster’s chivalry, then the grim, 
ugly present faded from their view and they lived for a while in 
a brilliant, stirring, dashing future — alas ! never, never to be 
theirs ! 

One dark October night, as the story goes, when our fugitives 
were once more a-hide in Smithson’s house in Drury lane, Mc- 
Mahon, contrary to the advice of his more timorous friend, put 
his head out of the window to hail an oyster-wench whose sten- 
torian lungs w'ere waking the echoes of the half-deserted streets 
in the vicinity. Responsive to the call, the woman approached 
the window, the oysters were bought and paid for, and still no 
appearance of Maguire’s fears being justified. No look of sur- 
prise, no word of recognition escaped the dame as she stood 
without in the dim light of a flickering oil-lamp a few yards dis- 
tant. She even cracked a rude joke, as her money w'as told out, 
touching the fattening nature of her oysters, in allusion to poor 
Costelloe’s haggard face, looking the while as stolid as a circus- 
clown. 

No sooner, however, w^as the pale handsome face withdrawn, 
and the w indow closed, than the Englishwoman planted her dis- 
engaged arm a-kirabo, and said to herself with a low exulting 
laugh : “ My fortune is made now anyhow — as sure as my name 
is Betsy Brigg that ’ere chap is one of them Ilirish traitors as 
escaped from the Tower. Step out now, Betsy, lass ! an’ it be 
so, thou may’st fling thy basket into the moat !” 

Hours before the wintry sun shone out through the fogs of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


315 


London, Connor Maguire and Costelloe McMahon were again 
in the hands of the pious Master Conyers, and Betsy Brigg was 
the richer for that night’s work by a thousand marks. 

“ Now, God have mercy on our souls!” whispered McMahon 
in Irish, as the officers dragged the luckless prisoners down the 
narrow stair-way ; “ it is all over with us, friend of my heart !” 

“ Don’t say that, Costelloe 1” returned Maguire in a voice of 
terror ; “ don’t say it is all over — God is good 1” 

“ I know that, Connor, — I know He will be good to our poor 
Bouls, — but, depend on it. He hath delivered our bodies to the 
will of the enemy ! Ha! you base-born churl!” — in English to 
one of the constables who had given him a crack over the 
shoulders to hurry him on — “ you had not dared to do so w’ere it 
not for these fetters ! Ay ! do your worst — the nobleness of our 
blood though it move not your pity, doth raise us above com- 
plaint ! Have courage, my poor friend, my more than brother !” 

Maguire could not answer : stunned by the crushing blow 
which had in an instant, as it were, annihilated all their hopes, 
he gave himself up to despair. Just as they were parting, how- 
ever, at the inner gate of the Tower, he called out, as if by a 
spasmodic effort : 

“Pray for me, McMahon, as I will for you !” 

“I will, Connor, I will! — if we meet no more in this world, 
farewell !— God bo with you ! By our Lady, our death wil 
make somewhat of a stir at home — methinks Uriel and Ferma- 
nagh will be in the van when the red day of vengeance cometh !” 
He was silenced by a blow on the mouth from the mailed hand 
of an official. Oh ! the torture of that moment when the proud 
McMalion could only chastise the wretch by a look, hand anti 
foot were both fettered ! But such a look was that, so scathing 
in its concentrated fire, that the cowardly caitiff* slunk away 
behind his fellows, unwilling to encounter that withering eye 
again. 

A few weeks after that, the prisoners were brought to trial, 
and poor McMahon, convicted of the deadly crime of “ Papistry” 
and with the lesser one of “ wickedly conspiring against the 
peace of tlie realm,” was sentenced to be “ hanged, drawn, and 
quartered” on the hill of Tyburn. 


316 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Right nobly did the Tanist of Uriel hear himself during the 
mockery of a trial, and when the judge asked him as usual 
what he had to say wby sentence of death should not be passed 
upon him, he smiled with bitter scorn and replied : 

“ Nought have I to say to you ! — to the Judge of judges I 
answer for my acts ! He knoweth and seeth all, and He will 
avenge me and mine in the latter day — I am, by God’s mercy, 
a Roman Catholic, unworthy though I be of the name, and I 
did desire to see my country freed — these be my offences — of 
these I am guilty — proceed then to judgment !” 

“ Had you, or had jou not, a commission to levy war against 
the lawful authority of these realms 7 — answer truly as you 
hope for mercy !” 

Again the scornful smile lit up the shrunken features of poor 
Costelloe : “ Mercy ! I look not for mercy at the hands of Eng- 
lish judges other than the mercy shown to my fathers in times 
past, but on the faith of an Irish gentleman I know of no com- 
mission — heard of no commission save in your (^^estioning. 
This I said on the rack in Dublin, this say I now before a hos- 
tile court. Though King Charles hath not dealt fairly by us 
Catholics, yet will I not wrong him — God save the king from 
the hands of his enemies — we owe him no thanks, but we know 
liim for our true and lawful sovereign, and will not belie him 
— God forbid! I say again, proceed to judgment — I would 
know the worst at once.” 

The worst was soon known, and McMahon heard the iniquitous 
sentence without the slightest change of countenance. A shade 
paler he might have grown as he listened, but nor look nor word 
betrayed any emotion of fear. Cold and calm he was, and his 
blue eyes wandered with a strangely indifferent look over the 
grim array of scowling faces before, and above, and around him. 

“ Hanged, drawn, and quartered !” he repeated slowly, as 
though to himself. “ It is well— the manner of my death surely 
is not over creditable— but the shame is with them — not with 
me ! My soul to God,” he said in a loud clear voice, “ my cause 
to the Confederate Catholics of Ireland ! — Heaven prosper their 
righteous efforts ! — May I have a priest to prepare me for death V* 


THE CONFEDERATE CIIIEFTATNS. 


317 


“ Surely no — it were the worst cruelty to grant you such a 
boon.” 

“ Then God himself will be my priest !” and nothing more did 
McMahon say. He was taken some days after to Tyburn and 
executed according to the sentence, maintaining to the last the 
same bold and fearless spirit that had marked him through life 
— the hand that had made grotesque sketches on Borlase’s 
walls, while awaiting his first trial, never trembled on the gallows 
when the hangman stood by McMahon’s side, and a brutal, 
pitiless mob gazed up with eager eyes, curious to see how an 
Irish rebel died. 

Poor Costelloe McMahon ! bold, brave, light-hearted Costelloe 
McMahon ! he died as became his high lineage and the noble 
cause for which he so freely gave his life. He died as became 
a Catholic cavalier, rejecting with scorn the offer of a minister 
to pray with him — 

“ A beam of light fell o’er him, 

Like a glory round the shriven, 

And he climb’d the lofty ladder, 

As it were the path to heaven !” 

Signing himself with the cross on forehead, lip and breast, he 
bent his head a moment and clasped his hands, then made a sign 
to the hangman and was speedily launched into eternity, while 
the crowd below, wondering at such marvellous fortitude and 
resignation, forbore to hoot or revile, as was their wont when 
Papists were executed. 

And how was it with Lord Maguire while his companion in 
misfortune was thus expiating on the gallows the enormous 
crime of being a Catholic and a lover of his country 'I 

Maguire, after all, was not so easily disposed of as his friend, 
notwithstanding his want of that physical energy, and that exu- 
berant flow of spirits which were characteristic of poor McMa- 
hon. It so happened, then, that Connor Maguire, Lord Ennis- 
killen, being placed at the bar, did most unreasonably and 
unexpectedly protest against any such trial, demanding to be 
tried by his peers in Ireland, inasmuch as a baron of that king- 
dom could not lawfully be tried in an English court of law. 

Great was the surprise of the judges, and great, too, was their 


318 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


disappointment, for they had humanely counted on making short 
work of the two “ pestiferous Papists,” never thinking, in their 
sweet simplicity, that an Irish peer would dare to claim the 
prerogative due to his class. The plea was, however, unan- 
swerable, at least for the time, and so the judges were forced to 
remand the prisoner to his dungeon. Poor Connor ! he naturally 
supposed he had gained an advantage, seeing that a trial in Dub- 
lin might give him some chance for life, and straightway hope 
began to revive, and gleams, faint and far, shed a dim light on 
the dreary darkness of his sou). The fate of his companion was 
well known to him, for his tyrants took care that he should know 
it, and knowing, see in it the consummation of his own suffer- 
ings. Under other circumstances he would have been inconsol- 
able for Costelloe’s melancholy end, for the friendship from 
boyhood existing between them had been fostered by commu- 
nity of suffering and misfortune into more than brotherly love : 
now he almost envied his fate, in that the ghastly death-scene 
was over, and all the honors of suspense and bodily fear, and 
the thousand, thousand tortures of their hard captivity. And 
then he thought of Emmeline, and how she would feel on hear- 
ing of his being re-captured, and he wondered whether there 
was still any possibility of her being able to assist him, and hope 
whispered faint and low that there was still a chance, and Con- 
nor listened to the beguiling voice until he half believed its 
“ flattering tale.” If he could only have his trial take place in 
Dublin before the peers, many of whom had been his own friends 
and associates in former days — surely — surely he might expect 
a measure of justice at their hands which in that Puritan Eng- 
lish court was beyond the range of probability. 

In the most fearful of all suspense, with the fate of McMahon 
staring him in the face, haunting his feverish slumbers by night, 
and oppressing his heart by day, Maguire lay in his noisome 
cell, buoyed up with the one solitary hope of being removed to 
Dublin for trjal. As time rolled on, and the dark, dreary davs 
of a London winter grew into weeks and they into months, 
without any change in his affairs, poor Connor took it as a favor- 
able sign, and the gleam of hope grew stronger from day to 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


319 


day. He litile knew the doggedness (so to say) of English 
hate. Tho Puritans had not forgotten him in his cell. 

The spring time came on, and a certain Mr. Justice Bacon 
took it upon him to decide that “ a Baron of Ireland was 
triable by a jury in England!' Oh, wise Mr. Justice Bacon ! 
learned in the law wert thou and well instructed in the ways of 
persecution ! — and thy dictum was of course received as law 
and a special act passed by the Parliament to make it so. Alas ! 
poor Connor Maguire ! his enemies had no mind to give him the 
chance which a trial by his peers on Irish soil might afford 
him. 

On the 10th day of February, Lord Maguire was again 
arraigned before an English judge and jury. His case had 
been so long before the public that it had come to excite more 
interest than most others of the kind, — common as they were in 
those evil days, — and so the court was densely crowded. And 
there in the dock, before that curious multitude of strangers, 
stood the young chieftain of Fermanagh, tall, and thin, and very 
pale, his long auburn locks parted in the middle and hanging 
down at either side almost to his shoulders, after the manner of 
the old Irish. Whether through derision, or in order to excite 
the anti-Irish prejudices of the spectators more and more, he 
was clothed in the habiliments wherein he was first captured, 
carefully preserved, it would seem, for the purpose, though 
worn almost to tatters during his year’s imprisonment in Dublin. 
It was the intention of his persecutors, doubtless, to make him 
ridiculous, but in that they failed, for never had Connor Ma- 
guire looked more noble than he did standing at the bar, with 
his old faded cloak wra])ped around his tall slender form, 
and a calm self-possession visible in his manner that gave him 
an air of true dignity. Not without a shudder did he find him- 
self again at the bar with neither counsel to defend him, nor, 
as he had reason to believe, one friendly soul amongst the vast 
crowd that filled the court. He looked up to the judges— dark 
stern men they were, with unmistakeably Puritan faces — he 
looked to the jury-box — what he saw there was not more 
encouraging — then fear came upon his soul, and hope well nigh 
vanished, and cold sweat oozed from every pore, and Connor 


820 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


felt as thougli his limbs were suddenly failing him, and the 
sight of his eyes growing dim. 

“ The fear of death was on him, 

And despair was in his soul — ” 

It was but for a moment — he prayed for strength and strength 
was given him, and the love of life prompted him to struggle 
even then against the fate which he so much dreaded. Shaking 
off by an almost superhuman effort the weakness inherent in 
his nature, he bestirred himself to note what was going forward, 
condensing all his faculties into observation. God and himself, 
he thought, were all he had to depend upon, and he rallied all 
his powers to meet the terrible exigency. Nerved and- excited 
by this siern necessity, Connor Maguire displayed during his 
trial an amount of ingenuity surprising to behold, together with 
a knowledge of the English law little to be expected from an 
Irish chieftain of that day. Every objection that a skilful lawyer 
could make was made by him ; every turn and twist of the law 
was successively employed ; every handle it offered, eagerly laid 
hold of — alas ! in vain, in vain, those safeguards of -British jus- 
tice were never meant to benefit a “ pestilent Irish Papist !” they 
were no protection to Connor Maguire. 

Being arraigned, as we have said, he first demanded time to 
liave his witnesses brought from Ireland. 

“What can your witnesses say for you I” was the st'ange 
reply, and the demand was sternly refused. 

“ I humbly desire to have a formal trial,” said the chief- 
tain — 

“ In what respect do you mean I” responded the judge with 
sweet simplicity. “ You are now arraigned — evidence will be 

brought against you — I conceive that is a formal trial ” 

^ What could the prisoner say to such reasoning as this 1 
- The jury was then called, and Lord Maguire challenged the 
whole panel, “ for causes best known to himself.” No other 
answer could be got from him, and so for that day the trial was 
postponed. 

It was only for a day. On the following day his lordship was 
again brought up for trial. Another jury was summoned, and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


321 


this time the chieftain’s indignation could not be concealed 
under legal forms. He again challenged the jury, and being 
asked his reasons, replied : 

“ Under favor, I conceive, that my lands being sequestered, 
those men that have bought my lands should not pass upon my 
trial ; and, therefore, I desire that they make answer to it, upon 
oath, whether any of them have adventured or not.” 

It was not without reason that the wronged and plundered 
nobleman spoke thus — he saw, doubtless, impanneled on his jury, 
some of the very men who were most interested in putting him 
out of the way, and hence his honest indignation. His object 
was overruled, however, on the shallow pretence that a general 
challenge such as that was not admissible. Still Connor perse- 
vered, unwilling to submit to such outrageous mockery of justice 
when his life was at stake. 

“ I beseech you hear me in it,” he said with touching earn- 
estness. 

But hear him they would not — the jury was impanneled, such 
as it was — the trial went on — evidence was not wanting to prove 
Lord Maguire an arrant Papist and a noted rebel — the latter 
being a necessary consequence of the former. 

Amongst the witnesses brought over from Ireland were Sir 
William Cole, late governor of Enniskillen, Sir Arthur Loftus,* 
and Lord Blayney. What manner of evidence these loyal plan- 
ters gave it is easy to imagine, but lone and desolate as poor 
Connor felt, and withal burning with indignation, he could not 
refrain from smiling as he heard Cole gravely relate how Captain 
Koderick Maguire had expelled him from his post with small 
ceremony, and “ taken upon him the managing of all business.” 

“ Heaven bless you, my gallant brother!” he said within him- 
self, “ you were thinking of your poor Connor then — was I 
within your reach it would take strong walls to keep you from 
me, oh, Rory I bravest of Fermanagh’s sons ! Should I perish 
now, it is something to know that there is one to revenge the 
wrongs of all our race !” 

* It has been aptly said that amongst the present possessors of 
“ the land of the waters” are men with these very same names. • 


322 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Lord Blayney, examined on the treasonable religion of the 
prisoner, not only established his guilt in that particular but 
also that of his supposed friends in Ireland. 

“ Lord Fingal,” said he, “ is a Papist, and Clanmorris a pesti- 
ferous Papist.” 

“ What ! all Papists !” exclaimed Sergeant Whitfield in holy 
horror ; “ good Lord deliver us !” 

The evidence was, of course, conclusive. Touching the mat- 
ter of “ the conspiracy,” the judges deliberately stated that Lord 
Maguire had acknowledged it on his first examination. This he 
positively denied, whereupon the written depositio’h was brought 
forward, and Whitfield said : 

“ There it is under my Lord Maguire’s own hand.” 

“ Truly my name is thereto appended,” said the unfortunate 
nobleman, “ but not in my own hand.” 

On this Lord Blayney was again called to prove the handwrit- 
ing. “ Beyond a doubt,” said he, “ that is my lord’s hand — I 
have had many letters from him.” 

“ I crave your lordship's pardon,” said poor Connor ; “ I know 
not that you have had many letters from me.” The confusion 
visible on Blayney’s face went, of course, for nothing. What 
though he dared hot meet the eye of the astonished prisoner, and 
slunk from the box with the hang-dog expression of conscious 
guilt visible on every feature ! 

“ I would not exchange places with that man,” said Maguire 
in an audible voice ; “ no, not for what he holdeth of McMahon’s 
country !” 

Alas ! truth was not expedient in that court — the evidence 
was, of course, incortestible (so said the judges !), and on that 
evidence “ Connor, alias Cornelius Maguire, commonly called 
Lord Enniskillen,” was found guilty, and summoned to receive 
his sentence. 

Sentence ! — sentence of death ! oh ! the agony of that 
thought. The blow so long delayed was then about to fall — 
death in its most hideous form was close at hand — a death of 
public shame. For a moment Maguire was overcome — his 
faculties were benumbed and speech forsook his lips. Was 
there, then, no hope I Raising his eyes to the bench of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


323 


judges he marked the cold, contemptuous stony look on every 
face, and somehow the sight roused him from his stupor. 

“ I desire to know,” said he, “ by what law I am condemned.” 

“ The law is well enough known,” was the judge’s answer. 

“ I was not tried by my peers,” persisted the Irish lord. 

“ You put in that plea before, the which was overruled.” 

“ I desire counsel to advise me thereon.” 

This was shortly refused. “ Your time is past for counsel. 
You must have none assigned to pick holes in the indictment.” 

Other legal objections poor Connor made, displaying a degree 
of tact and ingenuity that must have astonished even his judges, 
but all were met in the same spirit — dry, cold, peremptory. 
Every point was overruled,” and “ said Connor, alias Cornelius 
Maguire, commonly called Lord Enniskillen,” was sentenced to 
be hanged, drawn, and quartered, as his companion had been 
before. 

Hearing this, a mortal paleness overspread Maguire’s face. 
“ This, then, is the end of all my hopes,” he murmured, and 
bowing his head on his chest, he remained for a moment mo- 
tionless. What passed within his soul during that moment was 
only known to God and himself, but suddenly he stood erect 
and glanced silently up at the judges with a calm and earnest 
look. 

Seeing that the prisoner remained silent, the question was 
then put to him whether he would have any ministers to pray 
with him, “ and advise him for the good of his soul.” 

“ I desire none of them,” made answer the prisoner,- “but I 
desire I may be sent prisoner to’ Newgate.” 

“ Ay,” said the King’s Counsel, “ his reason is, because there 
are some Popish priests there.” 

“ It cannot be,” said the Judge, “your sentence is to return 
to the Tower, where you may have ministers, if you will, to 
advise you on your soul.” j 

“ I desire the attendance of a priest of my own religion.” 

Quite impossible ! He was told to prepare for death on the 
following Saturday. 

“ I desire a fortnight’s time to prepare.” 

“ You cannot have a fortnight.” 


324 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ I desire three days’ notice.” 

That as a special favor was granted, and Maguire, perchance, 
a little encouraged by the concession, ventured to request that 
he might be executed in some other way than hanging, “ the 
which,” said he, “ is unbecoming my rank as a peer of Ireland.” 

But no ! this was too great a favor — the high-born chief of 
the Clan Maguire, the accomplished “ peer of Ireland,” must 
needs be executed like a common felon — the more degrading 
his end, the better it pleased his remorseless enemies. 

He was removed from the bar, and then a fresh attack was 
made on his religion^ He was advised to confer speedily with 
some godly minister “ for the good and comfort of his soul.” 

“ I say I’ll none of them,” replied the chieftain ; “ an’ I be not 
allowed a priest of the Catholic Church, I will have no min- 
ister !” 

“ Think better of it, my lord,” said a certain Mr. Prynne, one 
of the leading functionaries who had before enlightened the 
court with the information that the prisoner had neither lands 
nor livings in Ireland ! “ Think better of it — these Popish 
priests are they whose counsels have led you to this shameful 
end which -you so much appear to dread. Since they have been 
such destructive counsellors to you in your lifetime, you would 
do well to discard them and their bloody religion, and to seek 
better advisers . at your death, lest you eternally lose youi 
soul.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Maguire replied, “ My mind 
is made up. I am resolved in my own way.” 

“ My lord,” said another of the lawyers present, “ you were 
best to hear both sides.” 

“ I have told you,” said the chieftain haughtily, “ that I am 
settled in my own faith — I desire no speech of any minister.” 

He was then conveyed once more to the Tower, and during 
the nine days that elapsed before the closing scene, he resolutely 
drove away all worldly thoughts and affections. Even of Em- 
meline he did not dare to think, although at times the question 
would protrude itself between him and his devotions. “ Hath 
she, at last, given me up I — doth she shrink from the condemned 


I 


THE (CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 325 

felon 1 It matters not now who holdeth me in remembrance or 
who doth not ! My God to me and I to Him !” 

His petition to be executed as became a nobleman having 
been forwarded to parliament, was by that body disdainfully 
rejected, and on the 20th day of February the noble chief of 
the Maguires was drawn on a sledge through London to the 
fatal hill of Tyburn, so often stained with the blood of the brave 
and good. Arrived there, the prisoner was placed in a cart, 
where he knelt “ and prayed a while.” 

Having so often declared his intention to have no minister at 
his death-hour, it might be supposed that his enemies would 
have ceased their importunities on that head. Not so, however, 
not so. The Sheriff, good pious man ! must needs try his hand 
on the Popish lord. 

“ Do you believe you did well,” said he, “ in those wicked 
actions V’ 

“ I have but a short time — do not trouble me !” 

“ Sir, it is but just I should trouble you, that you may not be 
troubled for ever !” oh ! zealous and most charitable Mr. Sheriff 
Gibbs ! 

“ I beseech you, sir, trouble me not,” said the poor prisoner 
again ; “ I have but little time to spend.” 

But the Sheriff insisting, would have had him acknowledge 
himself in the wrong in what he did, for the satisfaction, as he 
said, of the people. 

“ I beseech you do not trouble me !” still said the persecuted 
sufferer ; “ I am not disposed to give you an account. Pray 
give me leave to pray !”* 

Oh ! the grandeur, the majesty of Maguire’s mien as he 
uttered those words— “ Pray give me leave to pray !” Surely 
more touching words were never spoken by human lip. There 
was all the humility of the Christian mingled with supreme 
contempt of his persecutors and their impotent assaults. 

A new tack was then taken — the Commission again 7 — had he, 

* In this short account of the trial, I have given the noblh-hearted 
chiefs exact words. They are too sublime in their lofty simplicity 
to be lightly altered. I give them verbatim from the published ac- 
count of his trial. 


326 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


or knew he of others having any commissioi>— “ who were 
actors or plotters with you, or gave you any commission 1” 

“ For God’s sake give me leave to depart in peace.” 

All this while Maguire had been looking intently on a piece 
of paper which Pad been thrust into his hand as he left the 
Tower Gate. As he looked, his eye brightened and his whole 
aspect changed. What was in the paper*? There was a short 
selection of thoughts and reflections befitting that awful moment, 
together with some brief ejaculatory prayers suitable for the oc- 
casion. But there was more, oh ! far more than these, there was a 
brief note from a priest, who signed himself his “ friend William,” 
to the effect that as he was deprived of the opportunity of confess- 
ing his sins, he should not want the consolations of religion. On 
a sign specified, this good priest who had ridden many a weary 
mile for that purpose, was to give him absolution from his place 
amongst the spectators. To encourage him the more the 
appearance of the priest was clearly indicated. He was to sit 
“ on a red horse, in a white hat and a grey jacket,” and lest this 
good “ friend William” should meet with any mischance, the 
presence of two or three other priests was intimated, so that the 
prisoner could not fail to secure the “ plenary physic” for his 
soul at his departure on his last journey. The sign agreed upon 
was that Maguire was to raise his hand to his face and bow down 
his head. “ I beseech you, dear sir,” said the letter, “ be of 
good courage, for you shall not want anything for that happy 
journey, and offer you yourself wholly for Him, who did the 
same for you.” 

And so Maguire did, and hence the nobleness of his end. 

Mr. Sheriff Gibbs, thwarted in his pious designs, ordered the 
prisoner’s pockets to be searched. They contained nothing but 
his beads and crucifix, which Connor eagerly took hold of. 

“ Come, my lord !” said one of the officials, pointing to these 
sacred objects, “ leave these and acknowledge your offence to 
God and the world. It is not your Ave Marias nor those things 
will do you any good.” 

Maguire heeded not his impertinence, but calmly turning to 
the people who were present in crowds to see the spectacle, he 
spoke these memorable words : 


The confederate chieftains. 


327 


“ Since I am here to die, I desire to depart with a quiet mind, 
and with the marks of a good Christian, that is, asking forgive- 
ness first of God, and next of the world. And I do forgive (from 
the bottom of my heart) all my enemies and offenders, even 
those that have an hand in my death. I die a Roman Catholic, 
and although I have been a great sinner, yet am I now, by God’s 
grace, heartily sorry for all my sins, and I do most confidently 
trust to be saved (not by my own works), but only by the pas- 
sion, merits, and mercy of my dear Saviour Jesus Christ, into 
whose hand I commend my soul.” 

“ Prepare for death !” said the harsh voice of Sheriflf Gibbs. 

Connor Maguire bent his stately head a moment and closed 
his eyes W'hile he made his act of contrition, then slowly raised 
his right hand to his face and murmured, “ Absolve me, 0 Lord, 
from my sins — cleanse my soul with Thy precious blood !” 

“ The moment is come !” said Sheriflf Gibbs. 

Lord Maguire turned for the last time to the people : ” I do 
beseech,” said he, “ all the Catholics that are here to pray for 
me — I beseech God to have mercy on my soul !” 

They -were his last words. The fatal noose was on his neck. 
A few minutes more and his half-dead body was cut down and 
quartered, and another bright name was added to the glorious 
list of Irish martyrs. 

Comment on such a death were superfluous, but who can 
help remarking the w’ondrous change wrought by Divine grace 
in the character of this truly noble son of the Maguires 1 Who 
could recognize in that stern confessor of the faith the timid 
and vacillating guest of O’Moore, whose extreme caution and 
(as it seemed) pusillanimous fears would have crushed in its 
infancy the great struggle for freedom 1 

Before that Puritan English Court his character assumed 
another development, he was there the subtle disputant, plead- 
ing his own cause with marvellous skill — fighting the enemy with 
his own weapons, and struggling like a drowning man for life. 

He perished in the flower of his years— a martyr to the sacred 
cause of civil and religious freedom, and surely the proud an- 
cestral tree of “ the Maguires, sons of the waters,” has given no 
name to Irish history so dear as that of Connor. 


328 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“Who on his staff is this 7 who is this whose head is white with* 
age ; whose eyes are red with tears ; who quakes at every step.” 

“ Who comes from Strumon,” they said, “ amid her wandering 
lock? 7 She is mournful in her steps, and lifts her blue eyes towards 
i; u7 Wny art thou sad, Evir-Choma7 who is like thy chief in 
rtuovvij 7” MacPherson’s Poems of Ossian. 

Meanwhile great events were going on in Ireland. The 
fatal truce was scrupulously observed by the Confederates as 
regarded the armies of the king, but Monroe, with an army of 
17,000 men, held for the Parliament in Ulster. The double- 
dyed traitor, Inchiquin, had also declared for the same cause in 
Munster, moved thereto by anger for the king’s bestowing the 
Presidency of that Province on the Earl of Portland, whereas 
he had gone over to England for the special purpose of soli- 
citing that office from his Majesty at Oxford. Here, then, 
were two powerful armies of “ Covenanting carls” to be encoun- 
tered by the Confederates during the period of the Cessation 
with Ormond. As regarded the latter nobleman, the king had 
shown his satisfaction at the successful issue of the negotiations, 
by appointing him to the office of Lord Lieutenant, in room of 
the Earl of Leicester, who had discharged none of its functions, 
having never gone over to Ireland. There was Ormond, then, 
at the head of the Irish government, uniting in his own person 
the civil and military command, and, shame to tell ! many of 
Uie Anglo-Irish Confederates were seen creeping once more into 
the capital and hanging about the Court, a fitting sequel to the 
degrading scene at Jigginstown.* Still did the chieftains of the 

* The advantages derived by Ormond from his able diplomacy may 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


329 


old blood keep jealously aloof, maintaining that independence 
80 honorable to them, and mourning in secret over the blind 
infartuation which allowed Ormond to bring about that unlucky 
Cessation. As regarded the Confederates the pernicious effects 
of that measure were every day becoming more apparent 
The generals had found themselves unable to keep their sol- 
diers from taking leave of absence and rambling about the 
country hither and thither under one pretence or another, to the 
no small detriment of their clothes, and other equipments, their 
horses, and all the rest. The armies were, therefore, more or less 
broken up, and when corps were got together again, they were, 
in some instances, hardly fit for service. The ships, too, that 
had been chartered by the Council, and done such good service 
in protecting the coasts, landing men and ammunition from for- 
eign countries, and in various ways contributed largely to the 
success of the Confederates, now betook themselves whence 
they came, their services being, as it w’ere, no longer needed. 
Their place was immediately supplied by shoals of the Parlia- 
mentary cruisers of every size (sailing under orders to spare 
neither man nor woman of the Irish), so that the coast was com- 
pletely bombarded, and all communication with the Continent 
well nigh cut off. 

These were serious misfortunes in themselves, but to make 
matters worse, the Supreme Council must needs send off 3,000 
of its best men, together with considerable store of arms and 
provisions to Scotland, to aid the gallant Montrose in his chival- 
rous efforts to maintain the royal authonty. Little as the 
faithless Charles deserved it from them, and albeit that the 
Council acted unwisely in sending them abroad at such a time 
on such an errand, the career of those bravo Irish regiments in 
Scotland undoubtedly added a glorious page to the military 
history of our race. They were commanded by a Catholic Ilesman 

be collected from the fact, that hitherto the Confederate ships inter- 
cepted all supplies, and left Dublin in such a state, that upon search 
being mad© in the city and suburbs there could not be found 
fourteen days’ provisions for the inhabitants and soldiers. — Sir P. 
Peroiral’a Statement ^ quoted by Moehan. 


330 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


named Alexander McDonnell, the Colkilto of Scottish story, 
under whose guidance they performed prodigies of valor during 
that disastrous war in Scotland — 

“ What time the plaided clans came down 
To battle with Montrose.” 

The heroic devotion wherewith these chivalrous Irish soldiers 
fought for a king to whom they, as Catholics, owed so little grati- 
tude, must have touched the unhappy monarch, and opened his 
eyes as to who were his true friends. 

About the same time the Supreme Council, with a just ap- 
preciation of the services of Father Luke Wadding, sent an 
agent to Rome to solicit his Holiness to elevate that eminent ec- 
clesiastic to the rank of cardinal.* There is little doubt that 
Urban VIII. would have conferred that high dignity on a man 
for whom he had over manifested the highest esteem, but if 
such were his intention death prevented him from carrying it 
out — that great and good Pontiff died during that disastrous 
yearf — the Confederate Catholics of Ireland lost one of their 
best and truest friends, and, in all probability, the Irish nation 
missed the opportunity of having a Prince of the Church to 
boast of. 

Tne memorial sent to Rome on behalf of Luke Wadding con- 
tained also a most interesting account of the state of Catholicity 
in Ireland at that precise period, which must have given no 
small contentment to the closing days of Urban. From that 
document we will give an extract without other apology for so 
doing than the cheering picture it presents of what the Con- 
federates had achieved ; 

“ It is now manifest to the whole Christian world wdth what 
fidelity the Catholics of Ireland have clung to their ancient 
faith, and how they braved death, and exile, and the confisca- 
tion of their substance, rather than renounce the religion of 

* See McGee’s Gallery of Irish Writers — Life of Luke Wadding. 

t Urban VIII. died in July, 1644, and was succeeded by Innocent 
X., on the 15th of September. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 331 

their ancestors. To you, most holy Father, it is particularly 
known how heroically the Irish people, without arms or muni- 
tions of war, have struggled against the phalanxes of those who, 
sworn enemies of the Holy See, had vowed and sworn to pluck 
up our religion by the very roots. Our holy war has had a 
glorious result. The Lord God is now publicly worshipped in 
our temples, after the manner of our fathers ; most of the ca- 
thedrals have been restored to our bishops ; the religious orders 
possess the monasteries, and seminaries have been opened for 
the education of our youth. This great work has been accom- 
plished through the goodness of God, and the many favors be- 
stowed on us by you ; verily in future times the brightest page in 
the history of your pontificate shall be, that you found the Ca- 
tholic religion despised and prostrate in our island, and ere that 
pontificate closed beheld it raised up in splendor, and magnifi- 
cently attired, even as a bride for her spouse.” 

All this hai been eflfected by the Catholic soldiers of Ireland 
during the three or four years which had elapsed since that 
memorable 23d of October when the war-fires first blazed on 
the hills of Ulster. Alas ! that Ormond’s insidious diplomacy 
could undo by slow degrees what Catholic valor had so bril- 
liantly won, and that dissensions should arise amongst men 
united for the holiest of purposes. By union, all this marvel- 
lous success had been gained, by the disunion which Ormond 
succeeded in introducing into their ranks^ we shall see how it 
fared with the Confederates. 

Towards the close of the year’s truce, the Supreme Council 
being then sitting at Waterford began to discuss the propriety 
of pawning that portion of the kingdom which the Confederates 
held in order to obtain money for carrying on the war.:}: Owen 
Roe, being then in Waterford on business with the Council, was 
summoned before it to give his opinion, a proof that his charac- 
ter for wisdom was at least equal to his military fame. He 
heard the proposal with his usual calmness, but a frown ga- 
thered on his brow. 

“ What !” said ho, “ pawn the land which our swords have 


t Meehan’s Confederation 


332 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


won ! The soil that is watered with our soldiers’ blood ! — my 
lords and gentlemen, I will never consent to it ” 

“ But how are we to carry on the war 7” demanded the Arch- 
bishop of Dublin. 

“ How have we carried it on up to the present*? — pardon me, 
my lord, an’ I speak over sharply — but I thought all this ho- 
norable council must needs feel as I do that help hath been 
sent us from Sion, and that He who hath given is still powerful 
to give. No, my lords and brother Confederates, I for one will 
never consent to give any foreign power an interest in Ireland. 
Beg and even borrow, an’ ye will, \i\xipawn — faugh ! I like not 
the word ! it savors of such distress as hath not yet fallen to our 
lot, nor shall, with Heaven’s good aid !” 

Most of the bishops being of the same mind the proposal was 
finally rejected, and soon after, the Council returned to Kilkenny. 
By that time the news of the execution of Maguire and McMa- 
hon had arrived, and the most lukewarm of the Anglo-Irish 
were roused for a season into something like fervor, and half 
regretted the Cessation. The northern clans, especially those 
of Fermanagh and Uriel, could with difficulty be restrained 
from bursting simultaneously on the enemy, and by one bold 
stroke securing victory and revenge. 

The vengeful fury of McMahon and Maguire was shared, as 
might be expected, by Sir Phelini O’Neill, ever opposed to his 
kinsman’s systematic and cautious mode of warfare, and when 
Owen Roe, as usual, employed his supreme authority on the 
side of order and deliberation, the chieftains, so terribly ag- 
grieved, could not help accusing him of coldness and want of 
feeling. Their dissatisfaction was well known to Owen, and he 
summoned them all to meet him at Charlemont where he ex- 
plained at some lengtfi his plans for the future, whereby their 
wrongs would be more effectually revenged than by a wHd, 
disorderly onslaught which might well end in their own de- 
struction and the ruin of their cause. 

“ Before God this day,” said he, “I feel your wrongs as my 
own. Costelloe McMahon I knew abroad, and held in high 
esteem ; Maguire, by his heroic death, hath covered himself 
with glory (as indeed tliey both did), and made his name dear 


T’llE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


333 


to all of us. Death was gain to them, but, natheless, friends 
and brothers, they have left us a debt to pay, and it will go 
hard with us an’ we pay it not. The day of vengeance will 
come, so sure as my name is Owen O’Neill, and it will come all 
the surer and mayhap all the sooner, will you but restrain your 
lawful anger until I give you the word — then — then, chieftains 
of Ulster, I swear you may work your will and revenge your 
wrongs with one crushing blow ! Nay, Sir Phelim !” — and rising, 
he waved his hand majestically — “ nay, thus shall it be — seek 
hot, I charge you, to stir up strife — there be enough of it, and 
too much, in the Confederate camp, thanks to Ormond’s trick- 
ery — ^let us of the old blood — here in Ulster — have peace 
amongst us that a blessing may rest on our arms. What say 
you, McMahon'? and you, my youug friend?” to Rory Maguire. 
“ Shall we dishonor ourselves by violating this Cessation, agreed 
on in our name, though without our consent — or suffer it to ex- 
pire, after the manner of honorable men, and then., settle our 
account in our own way and at our own time ?” 

Whilst Maguire and McMahon, but half convinced, withdrew 
into a corner to confer together, the trumpet at the gate an- 
nounced an arrival, and very soon after a singular apparition 
greeted the eyes of the assembled chieftains. Grim and gh isily 
as a warrior of old arisen from the tomb, with his grizzle* I iif- 
locks hanging in wild disorder from under the rim of his har~ 
radh, and his eyes glittering with unnatural brightness, Lorcan 
Maguire strode up the hall wrapped in his war-cloak, and lead- 
ing by the hand a lady of rare beauty, attired in the deepest 
mourning of that day. The palor of death was on her face, and 
in her eyes a settled look of despair that was pitiful to behold 
in one so lovely and so young. 

Involuntarily all the chieftains rose as this vision of beauty 
and of woe appeared before them. The sight of Lorcan was no 
great surprise of itself, for the old man, since his return from 
London, had been going about amongst the chiefs endeavoring 
to stir them up. 

“ Rory Maguire !” said the old man as his quick eye sought 
out his nephew, “ come hither, Rory ! and welcome the beloved 
of Connor — her story is not unknown to thee 1” 


334 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS, 


In an instant Roderick Maguire was by the lady’s sid-e, and he 
took her offered hand with the reverence due to a superior being, 
the while tears rushed unbidden to his eyes, and the color 
mounted to his cheek. 

“Welcome!” he murmured in a faltering voice; “welcome ! 
fair Emmeline — more than sister !” 

“ Thanks, Roderick 1 ’ spoke the pale fair mourner after a 
moment’s pause ; “ thanks, brother of Maguire I I am here to 
speak wiUi Owen Roe and the northern leaders — which, I pray ^ 
you, is Owen Roe 1 ” 

“ Lady, he stands before you !” said O’Neill stepping forward, 
and bowing with that grave courtesy which became a gentleman 
of rank. “ Deign to honor me with your commands 1” 

“ Courteous chief,” said Emmeline, raising her heavy eyes to 
his, then glancing timidly around on the stately circle, “ I come 
to seek for justice and revenge at your hands. Justice mocked 
and outraged in an English Court — revenge for the blood of 
Maguire and his friend ! I have carried my sorrows to Kil- 
kenny, and told my dismal tale before the grand Assembly of the 
Confederates; the proud Norman lords listened with cold indif- 
ference, or faintly spoke of ‘ submission to the law,’ ‘ Cessation,’ 
and I wot not what — the murder of those innocent men under the 
guise of justice moved them not at all, or so little that I lost all 
hope of redress from them, and so I turned my weary steps 
northward, sure of finding amongst Maguires and McMahons, 
and the other valiant septs of Ulster, the ear to hear and the arm 
to right their kinsmen’s wrongs ! Chiefs! I stand before you 
the betrothed of Connor Maguire — have I journeyed hither in 
vain I” 

Most of those present had heard in one way or another the 
story of Emmeline’s ill-fated love and her more than womanly 
devotion, and now when she appeared before them in the ma- 
jesty of her beauty and her sorrow to plead the cause of one 
whom they had all loved, their hearts swelled with pity and 
with admiration. 

“ By the sword of Heber, no 1” said McMahon, with a re- 
proachful glance at Owen Roe; “ foul shame it is that no move 
is taken in that matter^ and, on the word of a chieftain, gentle 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


335 


lady ! the fault rests not with us of Uriel or Fermanagh, Had 
we our way you should have heard ere now of a terrible re- 
venge, and as God liveth, no human power can keep us in much 
longer ” 

“ Art 1 Art ! have patience !” said Owen Roe, “ nurse 
your wrath yet awhile as 1 have told you, and for every drop of 
Costelloe’s blood you shall have satisfaction ! Lady !” turning 
to Emmeline, “ I crave your pardon, an’ my speech be over free 
but I would know how your brother. Sir Charles Coote, doth 
regard your passages with our friend deceased ” 

“ My brother repeated the lady with startling vehemence, 
“ speak not of him I charge you ! he is henceforth no brother 
of mine ! — were it not for him I might, as I purposed, have 
made yet another attempt to save the life that was dearer far 
than my own — my inventive powers were not exhausted, and I 
might have succeeded — but — but — ” here she raised her hand 
to her head, made an effort to continue and failed, then turning 
to Lorcan, motioned for him to speak. 

“ When the Lady Emmeline reached Dublin,” said the old 
man, “ she went to visit her mother, and although she wanted 
none of her brothers to know she was there, and begged her 
mother to keep the secret, they found it out somehow, and be- 
fore she knew what they were about. Sir Charles had her taken 
and put in the mad-house.” 

‘ In the mad-house !” cried many of the chiefs simultaneously 
in a voice of horror. 

Even so, noble gentlemen !” said Emmeline, with flashing 
eyes and burning cheeks. “An’ ye doubt it — see here!” and 
raising the silken riding-hood from off her head, there was seen 
a close-fitting velvet cap which being, in its turn, removed not a 
vestige of hair was there The head was closely shaved, and 
while the chieftains exchanged looks of wonder and compas- 
sion, Emmeline burst into a wild hysterical laugh. 

“ Ay ! ye may stare 1” she cried ; “there is a sight to look 
upon. There was a day when the loss of the tresses so dearly 
prized would have well nigh driven me mad, but I miss them 
not at all now since he is dead, whom alone I wished to please. 
I care not, then, for my fair tresses— let them go and welcome— 


336 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


but, oh ! the maddening thought that the man who immured me 
in a mad-house, and told them I was raving mad — that that man 
should be my father’s son ! — oh ! chiefs ! and gallant gentlemen ! 
think of it !” 

All hearts were moved by this sad appeal, and by a common 
impulse every hand sought the sword or skene, while a low, deep 
murmur ran through the assembly like the angry surge that 
predicts the storm. 

Owen O’Neill enjoined silence by a motion of his hand, then 
calmly addressed the fair petitioner. 

“ Lady, suffice it to say, we are men and have hearts to feel” — 
and suiting the action to the word he laid his hand on his own 
heart — “Maguire andMcMahon died for our cause — their memory 
is dear to us — wo will revenge their sufferings and death when 
we can do it to our satisfaction, and believe me, fair daughter 
of the Sassenach ! the doleful tale we have heard but now will 
nerve our arms with deadlier force in the hour of retribution.” 

“ Thanks, most noble chieftain, thanks !” said Emmeline in a 
voice half choked with sobs ; “ for myself I have renounced 
kith and kin — my mother alone excepted, and as remaining* with 
her in Charles Coote’s house were impossible, I demand a safe 
and honorable asylum from the chivalrous sons of the Gael !” 

Several of the chieftains stepped eagerly forward — Sir Phelira 
to offer his mother’s house, McMahon and O’Reilly the protec- 
tion of their respective wives, and Magennis that of a maiden 
sister, who kept house by herself at Droraore-Iveagh. Owen 
Roe fixed his thoughtful eyes on the lady, while Lorcan at one 
side and Roderick at the other seized her hand. 

“ I would to Heaven, lady !” said Owen Roe, “that I could 
promise you an asylum befitting your station and safe at the 
same time as we could wish ” 

“ I pray you, general, heed not my rank — think only of my 
necessities !” 

“ An’ you are willing to endure hardship, sweet lady, and 
shift your dwelling at the approach of danger, you shall not 
want a fitting companion— you shall share the hard lot of O’Ca- 
lian’s daughter !” This last was rather addreeved to the chiefs, 
and Lorcan Maguire exclaimed with some petulance : 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


337 


“ A pretty asylum that will be, lurking in holes and comers 
with poor old Father Phelimy — an obstinate piece of woman’s 
flesh that same Judith always was ! 

“ And still is,” chimed in Sir Phelim, “ or it isn’t as she is 
she’d be now !” 

“ The general is right, natheless,” safd Roderick Maguire ; 
“Judith O’Cahan is of all women in Ulster the one to take 
charge of the Lady Emmeline——” 

“ Take charge of her!” repeated Owen O’Neill with a grave 
smile. 

“ Keep her company, I mean,” said the young chieftain hastily. 

“ What ye judge best, that will I do,” said Emmeline 
meekly. “ Keep mo amongst you, friends and kinsmen of Ma- 
guire, loj’al knights and gentlemen, and I ask no more. 
people are henceforth my people I” 

“ God bless you, my child, God bless you !” said old Lorcan, 
pressing her hand with deep emotion; “ I would go myself and 
protect you and Judith but the spirits of my race say otherwise. 
My place is evermore in the ranks of Owen’s army, waiting, 
waiting for the day that will wipe out all our score against the 
Puritans, and then, Emmeline, my daughter, then old Lorcan 
will go to his long home where the young and the brave are 
gone before him 1” 

Meanwhile Owen had sent for Donogb and Angus whom he 
knew were in the neighborhood of the Castle, and when they 
arrived he demanded if they knew where the Lady Judith was 
to be found. 

“ That we do full well, general,” said the Rapparee captain, 
“ herself and his reverence were with Captain Con’s motlier, 
poor lady I at Strabane, but yestermorn — I know not how long 
they may sojourn with her but there they be now.” 

“Better place could we not desire,” said Owen cheerfully; 
then turning to Emmeline: “ Lady, you shall have a home such 
as I did not dare to hope for — one of the noblest matrons of 
'the O’Neills— a mourner, too, like yourself— hath a house well 
garrisoned at Strabane, and with her is now the lady I spoke of 
as your fittest companion. An aged priest is of their company, 
15 


'338 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


it is true” — he smiled sadly — “ but that inconvenience we cannot 
remedy.’* 

“ Say not inconvenience, General O’Neill,” said the lady ear- 
nestly ; “ had Maguire lived I meant to embrace his religion — 
his martyrdom — as I needs must call it — hath but given me a 
new motive. I esteem it a signal favor from on high to obtain 
thus easily the needful instruction.” 

“ In tliat case, lady, these faithful fellows” — pointing to the 
Rapparees — “ will convey you thither in safety before the night 
falls. Nay, fear them not, though they bear the dreaded name 
of Rapparees. I have trusted them ere now with the keeping 
of some not inferior in nobleness or beauty even to the Lady 
Emmeline !” and he bowed with a smile all his own. 

“ Say it out, man !” cried the rough voice of Sir Phelim ; “ we 
all know who you mean.” 

“ I have said enough for my purpose, cousin mine,” said 
Owen coldly ; “ Donogh, to your care I confide this noble lady 
— take a party of your own, and escort her with all speed to 
the Castle of Strabane, greeting good Mistress Una from me, 
and — and — the Lady Judith — say I commend — all the chiefs 
commend — this noblest of English maidens to their good 
ofl&ces ” 

“ With your leave, general,” said Roderick Maguire, “my uncle 
and I will be of the party — it behoves us to see the Lady Emme- 
line safe housed.” 

This new proposition gave general satisfaction, and before an 
hour had elapsed the strangely-assorted party set out for Stra- 
bane, the lady mounted on a handsome palfrey, the gift of Sir 
Phelim O’Neill. 

Before the chiefs had come to any decision the news of 
Inchiquin’s going over to the Parliament came with stunning effect, 
followed, as it soon after was, by the account of his horrible 
massacre at Cashel, where in one day he slew some thousands 
of the inhabitants who had betaken themselves to the Rock and 
its sacred buildings for safety when they heard of his approach. 
But to “ Murrough of the burnings” no place was sacred, and 
so the shrine at which his fathers had worshipped — the Royal 
Cathedral of Thomond was desecrated that day by the blood of 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 339 

thousands of victims, amongst them some twenty priests who 
had taken refuge behind the high altar — and there were in 
humanly butchered. 

About the same time fresh reinforcements arrived from Scot- 
land to swell the army of General Monroe, who had publicly 
taken the covenant in Carrickfergus at the bidding of the Eng- 
lish Parliament.* The forces under his command now numbered 
full twenty thousand, and the whole country was thrown into a 
state of consternation, knowing by experience that the war car- 
ried on under Puritan auspices w^as a war of utter exter- 
mination. 

Owen Roe’s army, like most of the others belonging to the 
Confederation, was in great part scattered and disorganized by 
the truce with Ormond, and when any number were brought 
together their discipline, their arms and accoutrements were all 
in bad repair. Whilst O’Neill was turning in his mind what he 
Dad best do under such discouraging circumstances, he was 
summoned to Kilkenny in all haste. 

Arrived there he found the General Assembly in full session 
and all in a state of trepidation, because of the inundation of 
rebel Scots into various parts of the kingdom, and Inchiquin’s 
desertion to that party with the army at his command. “ He 
was bad and very bad as a Royalist, what will he be as a coven- 
anting rebel 1” 

“ Could you but deal with Monroe in Ulster,” said some of the 
lords to Owen Roe, “ so that he may not league with Inchiquin 
and Broghill in the south for our destruction !” 

“ I know not that I could meet him single-handed at the 
present time,” said Owen ; “ thanks to your Cessation, my army 
is not what it was a year ago — very far from it.” 

What is to be done, then V' said Lord Netterville curtly. 

“ Can you think of nothing, generaH” inquired Mountgarret 

anxiously. 

O’Neill paused a moment, then said with some hesitation, 
“ could you spare me some assistance now P’ 

“ How much would j'ou think needful 7” 


* MoobaQ’a Confederal ion, p. 80. 


340 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Say four or five thousand foot, and as many hundreds of 
cavalry.” 

” You shall have it !” was the prompt reply, and orders were 
immediately issued for the equipment of such a force for 
Ulster. 

Owen Roe, with all his calmness and indifference to selfish 
objects, was no little pleased with the thought that he should 
return to his own Province at the head of a trained and disci- 
plined force, which, united with what he could muster at home, 
would place him in a position to advance against Monroe with- 
out further delay. Dispatches from homo urged his return, 
one of them from Judith O’Cahan, who saw with alarm the 
daily-increasing power of the Scots, and feared, not without 
reason, a general massacre at their hands. Yet day after day 
Owen lingered in Kilkenny, hoping that the next would see 
him under orders for the north with his Leinster auxiliaries. 

At length the wished-for summons came to appear befoie the 
Council, and with a beating heart Owen Roe obeyed. lie stood 
before the lords and gentlemen in their hall, and heard from 
the lips of Lord Mountgarret the grave announcement that Lord 
Castlehaven had kindly consented to take the command of the 
Ulster army. Tirlogh O’Neill started quickly from his seat, 
anxious to explain that the appointment was not made with his 
will, or that of “ any gentleman of the Council, of Irish 
blood.” 

Owen Roe silenced his friend by a gesture full of dignity, 
then turning, he bowed to the Assembly. 

” It is well, lords and gentlemen of the Council ! — far be it 
from me to say otherwise, seeing that my lord of Castlehaven hath 
won such good repute in this war. If be be but one-half as suc- 
cessful in Ulster as elsewhere I shall be well content. An’ the 
Council have any commands for me I would have them, by 
nightfall, as I leave town early to-morrow. Master Tirlogh 
O’Neill, I would see you this evening at my lodgings in Patrick 
street — till then, God be wdth you.” 

Significant looks were exchanged amongst the Norman lords as 
the chieftain strode with a stately step down the hall. Many 
amongst them feared for the result of this ill-advised stop, and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


34 ] 


« - 

some were even for recalling O’Neill, and cancelling the appoint- 
ment in his favor. 

A heavy load was, therefore, taken from their hearts when 
they heard that from the Council-hall, General O’Neill had 
repaired to the lodgings of Castlehaven, "and frankly congratu- 
lated the peer on his new appointment.* 

* Castehaven’s Memoirs^ p. 46. 



342 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 




CHAPTER XXVII. 


Novr one’s the better — then the 'other best, 

Roth tugging to be victor, breast to breast; 

Yet neither conqueror or is conquer’d, 

So is the equal poise of this fell war.” 

Shakespeare. 


•' Thou need’s! not tell it ; he is dead. 
God help us all this day !” 


Ayrton. 


The appointment of Cast.lehaven to the command of the Ulster 
auxiliaries took place early in May, 1645, and the two following 
months of that summer were stirring and eventful ones for the 
Confederate Catholics. Owen Roe returned immediately to his 
camp at Portlester awaiting the arrival of the Leinster troops, 
but their coming was more tardy thon he expected, for the 
Supreme Council had found it necessary to dispatch Castlehaven 
to Connaught, in the first place, to reduce some refractory 
j)arties who would not submit to the Cessation. It was July 
before the Earl was at liberty to turn his attention to the north- 
ern Province, and then he marched to Granard, in the county 
of Longford, with what forces he had at his command, the remain- 
ing portion of the army destined for Ulster being ordered to 
meet him there. He had hardly reached Granard, however, 
when Uie news of Monroe’s advance at the head of a powerful 
army caused him to fall back hastily on Portlester, where he 
formed a junction with O’Neill. 

Monroe was not so near as Castlehaven had been informed, 
and the army was preparing to march northward in order to 
check, if possible, his devastating course, when “all at once it 
was found that detachments of his force were approaching in 
different directions, stripping the country as they advanced of 
everything in the shape of provisions. The Confederates imme- 


I 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


343 


diately sent out parties to watch the motions of the enemy, and 
so it happened that a line was formed by the advanced posts of 
either army — while the main body, of the Scots especially, was 
far behind. They at length approached each other so closely 
that continual skirmishing was going on with varying success, 
whilst the two Confederate generals were concerting means to 
check the progress of Monroe. Still there was far from being that 
cordial unanimity between them that might have been expected 
from such close identity of interests. 

It so happened that Owen Roe was attacked by a sudden in- 
disposition on the very eve of a rather serious engagement, in 
which the Confederates suffered severely. When the news 
reached Owen on his sick-bed, and the particulars were made 
known to him, he started to his feet, and though still far from 
being well, he hastened to Lord Castlehaven’s quarters. 

“ Whatls this I hear, my lord 1” said O’Neill in an agitated 
voice. 

“ That you ought to know best. General O'Neill !” said the 
peer coldly. He was engaged at the moment in conversation 
with some of his officers. 

“ Most likely your lordship knows it, too,” said Owen with in- 
creasing agitation ; “ how came it to pass, I ask you, that in 
this late affair, your officers stood by — ay ! even yon cowardly 
cock with the feather,” pointing to a certain Colonel Fennell 
who had been in command of the party, “ whilst my kinsmen 
were cut to ])ieces by the enemy 'I How was it, T ask you. Lord 
Castlehaven 

“ Verily I cannot say,” replied the Earl with the coolest in- 
difference ; “ your people might have been somewhat rash, 
or ” 

“Not so, my lord, not so,” said the Ulster general with more 
anger than he was ever known to manifest ; “ not so, but ^our 
people— or rather your officers — were cowards— base, skulking, 
heartless cowards, else had they not looked coldly on whilst my 
brave O’Neills were butchered — as for that Fennell ” 

“ Cowards, General O’Neill ! have a care what you say— Col- 
onel Fennell is an officer well esteemed -” 

“ I tell you, my lord, he is an arrant coward, and since you 


J^44 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

lefase to censure his conduct, ho sliall answer for it to the Su- 
preme Council in whose service we are all engaged — let him 
stand forward here and deny, if he dare, the truth of what I have 
stated.” 

But Fennell had disappeared, and Castlehaven, to cover his 
retreat, muttered something about having given him a commis- 
sion. 

“ It is very well, my lord,” said O’Neill sternly ; “ I am then 
to understand that there is no redress to be expected from you 
— as I have said, it must be sought elsewhere. Fennell and even 
your lordship may find out that the life of a Tyr-Owen clans- 
man is worth as much as that of a Leinsterman. O’Neills have 
good memories, too, my fine friend, and they cannot but see 
now what value you set on their lives, and in what account you 
hold their friendship. Depend upon it, James Touchet, we will 
keep this day’s work in mind.” 

“ With all my heart, O’Neill,” said the peer with a disdainful 
smile. “ An’ your clansmen be not able to take care of tHem- 
selves, they are ill worth fighting for.” 

Such being the spirit in which the two generals entered upon 
that Ulster campaign, it is easy to understand that their chances 
of success were much diminished. Still they bore it bravely, 
one and the other, in presence of the enemy, and although their 
forces were far inferior to those of the Scottish general in point 
of numbers, the latter w’as fain to retreat back to the far north 
without coming to any decisive engagement. Owen Roe had 
his head-quarters at Belturbet, and Castlehaven his at Charle- 
mont, they had also a strong fort and a magazine at Tanderagee, 
so that their lines extended over the greater portion of central 
Ulster. Their chief force was, however, concentrated in the 
neighborhood of Charlemont, Monroe’s army hovering like a 
;dark storm-cloud on the northern horizon. 

' At length the Scottish general advanced to the very banks of 
the Blackwater, and there he lay full in sight of the Confederates 
Avith the main body of his army far outnumbering theirs. It 
Avas a curious sight to see the rival hosts reposing on the oppo- 
site sides of the old historic stream, watching each other’s move- 
ments like two surly mastiffs, each one fearful of disturbing the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


345 


other by the sli'ghtest motion. As regarded Castlehaven this 
caution was no more than what prudence required, seeing that 
his numbers were so far inferior, but that Monroe, with his vast 
array, should hesitate about risking a battle showed a craven 
and cowardly spirit — quite consistent with the man’s love of 
carnage. Monroe, it is plain, had a special vocation for cutting up 
detached parties, but none whatever for meeting the Confederate 
soldiers in pitched battles. Castlehaven’s officers made merry 
over the matter for some days, and then the soldiers becoming 
impatient at the delay, the general resolved to cross the river 
and attack the enemy’s quarters. All that night the Irish army 
was in gay commotion expecting that the morrow would 
bring the long wished-for day of vengeance. The morrow 
came, the summer dawn crimsoned the wooded shores of 
the Blackwater ; the far-spreading plains and the distant moun- 
tains of Tyrone were gradually revealed in the early sunbeam, 
but Castlehaven’s soldiers looked in vain for the Scotch batta- 
lions whose dark outline had for days lain motionless before 
them. Unseen were their grazing steeds by the river, unheurd 
the roll of their morning drums ; they had vanished during 
the night, Monroe and his seventeen thousand, and the Con- 
federates w’ere left to keep watch alone over the passes of the 
Blackwater ! Monroe had merely waited to collect what pro- 
visions he could on his own side the river, and then made the 
best of his way back to his old quarters at Carrickfergus. 

This was esteemed a great triumph by Castlehaven, who, 
with characteristic self-conceit, took the whole credit to him- 
self, and boasted that Monroe had feared to encounter him. 
Owen Roe listened with a contemptuous smile, and said in a 
tone of good-humored raillery : 

“ Whether was it from our united army, or your lordship’s 
puissant arm, that the Scotch earl made his escape 1 I think 
ray Rapparees even had somewhat to do with it, they have 
kept buzzing like angry wasps on the outskirts of his army, 
stinging where they saw an opening, so that the thick hides of 
the Scotch must be well blistered ere now. As for you 
and me, my lord, it be time enough to boast when we have 
done something. We must follow Monroe.*’ 


346 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ When you have furnished your promised supplies, O’Neill, 
not soon-er.” 

“ Hath not my army done its share of the fighting since you- 
came into Ulster 1” demanded Owen. “ Have not my men borne 
the brunt V’ 

“ Truly they have fought well for their numbers,” said the 
Earl carelessly, “ but what with your creagMs and herds of 
cat6e, and such like, your men have had their hands full ” 

“ My herds of cattle are small in number, surely,” said Owen 
with his calm smile, “ an’ my men did no more than keep yours 
fed — it was not amiss. As for the creaghts, you would not 
have us leave our women and children to the tender mercies of 
the Puritans'?” 

“ Not so, but surely there be more men in your country than 
those we see in your ranks. An’ there be not, I have small 
hopes of making head against the Scotch.” 

But O’Neill had small hopes of immediate success — he saw 
clearly that if the Puritans were ever to be driven from Ulster 
it was not Castlehaven or the soldiers of the Pale that were 
likely to do it, and he made up his mind to husband his owm 
resources and apply himself once more to gather together the 
scattered clans and prepare them for one desperate struggle. 

Events, meanwhile, were transpiring which gave a new turn 
to the affairs of the Confederates, and made Castlehaven draw 
oflf his forces with all haste from Ulster while he himself re- 
paired to Kilkenny much disturbed in mind. The Council was 
sitting at the time, and as the Earl’s quick eye glanced around 
the room he speedily detected the presence of a stranger, a 
man of noble mien and courtly manners, who occupied a seat 
near the President. 

“ Give us joy, my lord,” said Mountgarret, " we are at last in 
a fair way of having peace — the king’s most gracious majesty 
hath been pleased to move in the matter, and here is my lord of 
Glamorgan duly accredited from him to treat with us there 
upon.” 

“ How ! Lord Herbert of Glamorgan, son of the loyal and va- 
liant Marquis of Worcester, who hath done such good service to 
the king 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


347 


“ The same,” said Glamorgan, rising and bowing with a grati- 
fied smile, 

*• Then am I well pleased to see you here,” said the peer ; 
“ there be no man in all England, an’ report speak truly, more 
fit to treat between his grace’s highness and his Catholic sub- 
jects of Ireland.” 

“ It is Lord Castlehaven who speaks,” said Mountgarret, turn- 
ing to tbe English lord, “ the Earl of Castlehaven, a brave and 
noble gentleman, right well affected towards the peace.” 

“ It were strange an’ I had not heard of his lordship,” said 
Glamorgan, and thereupon the two noblemen exchanged bows, 
and the most perfect understanding from that moment existed 
between them. 

“ I would ask your lordship,” said the' aged primate, Hugh 
O’Neill, “ hath his majesty lost his confidence in the great mar- 
quis that he deemed it expedient to send an envoy extraordinary'?’ 

“Not so, most reverend lord,” said Glamorgan hastily, “my 
lord of Ormond is still one of the foremost in the king’s favor, 
but being a staunch Protestant he cannot have that sympathy 
with the Confederates which would move him to consider their 
claims with intent to give satisfaction. He desires peace on 
certain conditions not at all favorable to the Catholics — whereas 
the king my master desires it on any terms. The good service 
done in Scotland by your men sent over to Montrose hath been 
most acceptable to his grace 

“ It had much need, my lord earl,” quoth Tirlogh O’Neill, 
“ seeing that it hath drawn upon us the full fury of the Parlia- 
mentary rebels. Had Colkitto and my lord of Antrim left the 
Graham to make shift with his Highlanders, Monroe had not 
been roused from his lair and set upon us, nor Inchiquin bought 
over to betray his king. Marry, my Lord Glamorgan, it was a 
stretch of generosity on the part of this honorable Council to 
send some of its best regiments to serve a king who — ahem ! I 
respect him and will say no more.” 

It appeared on further examination that Lord Glamorgan was 
vested with the most ample power to treat with the Confede- 
rates, and to make peace with them, as he said, “ on any 
terms.” His royal master was at length fully sensible that 




848 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


instead of being rebels to his authority the Catholics of Ireland 
were his only hope after the loyal cavaliers of England. He 
had found to his heavy cost that the Irish Protestants, even 
those who had been serving in Ormond’s army, were far from 
being devoted to his interest,* whilst the Catholics, notwith- 
standing their many grievances, were true as the steel of their 
bayonets. Whatever might have been the king’s secret senti- 
ments with regard to his Catholic subjects, his necessities were 
too urgent to allow him any further indulgence of bigotry in his 
dealings with them, and he was forced to throw himself, as it 
were, on their generosity, counting largely, it must be confessed, 
on their Christian forgiveness. 

It was stern necessity that drew from Charles Stuart such 
articles of peace as those submitted that day in his name to the 
Confederate Catholics of Ireland who were but too willing to 
meet his advances. They had been just discussing the terms 
of a permanent treaty proposed by Ormond, in which that wily 
statesman was fain to withhold from them those rights whicn 
their swords had for the present secured to them, how great 
then was their joy when they found the so much wished-for 
peace placed within their reach by their sovereign himself on 
such terms as they hardly dared propose to his Protestant 
viceroy. 

These were the terms agreed to by Lord Glamorgan on the 
part of the king : 

“ I. That all the professors of the Roman Catholic religion in 
Ireland shall enjoy the free and public use and exercise of their 
religion. 

“ II. That they shall hold and enjoy all the churches by them 
enjoyed, or by them possessed, at any time since the 23d of 


* Of the regiments sent over to Chester by Ormond during the 
Cessation, Borlase, in his History of the Irish Insurrection, says : 
“ Such was the reluctancy of the common soldiers that the sharpest 
proclamations hardly restrained them from flying their colors, both 
before and after their arrival in England.” The Irish Catholics, on 
the contrary, who enlisted in the king’s service, wore faithful and 
true to the very last. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


340 


October, 1G41, and all other churches in the said kingdom, other 
than such as are now actually enjoyed by his Majesty’s Pro- 
testant subjects. 

“ III. That all the Roman Catholics shall be exempted from 
the jurisdiction of the Protestant clergy, and that the Catholic 
clergy shall not be punished or molested for the exercise of 
their jurisdiction over their respective flocks. And, also, that 
an act shall be passed in the next parliament for securing to 
them all the king’s concessions. 

“IV. That the Marquis of Ormond, or any others, shall not 
disturb the professors of the Roman Catholic religion in posses- 
sion of the articles above specifled. 

“ V. The Earl of Glamorgan engages his majesty’s word for 
the performance of these articles. 

“,VI. That the public faith of the kingdom shall be engaged 
unto the said Earl by the commissioners of the Confederate 
Catholics, for sending 10,000 men by order and declaration of 
the General Assembly at Kilkenny, armed, the one-half with 
muskets, and the other half with pikes, to serve his majesty in 
England, Wales, or Scotland, under the command of the said 
Glamorgan, as lord general of thie said army ; which army is to 
be kept together in one entire body, and all other the officers 
and commanders of the said army are to be named by the 
Supreme Council of the said Confederate Catholics, or by such 
others as the General Assembly of the said Confederate Catho- 
lics of Ireland shall entrust therewith.” 

Such was the treaty signed on the part of the Confederates 
by their commissioners, Richard, Lord Viscount Mountgarret, 
and Donogh, Lord Muskerry. A copy of its articles had pre- 
viously been submitted to each of the leading members of the 
Council. The hopes it' held out were bright and beautiful, but 
they vanished, like ttie roseate blush of dawn. For very spe- 
cious reasons advanced by the Earl the treaty was not made 
public, and the Confederates went on fighting the rebellious 
Puritans, and religiously observing the Cessation with Ormond, 
further extended to the December following. 

News had by this time arrived of the death of the good Pope 
Urban VIIT., and the accession of Innocent X. to the papal 


350 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


throne. Anxious to pay their respects to the new Pontiff, and 
enlist his sympathies in their cause, the Supreme Council dis- 
patched tl«ir secretary, Richard Belling, to Rome to congratu- 
late his Holiness, and at the same time to report the progress 
of affairs to their faithful agent. Father Luke Wadding. That 
Innocent X. took no less interest in the struggle going on in 
Ireland than his predecessor, succeeding events will show. : *• 
Meanwhile, the Confederates were alarmed, and not without 
reason, by the threatening aspect of the Parliamentary forces 
in Ireland. They had hoped that Ormond would unite with 
them during the Cessation in resisting the progress of these 
worse than rebels, from whose fanatical fury neither age, sex, 
nor condition was safe. Where they conquered, indiscriminate 
slaughter followed, for the extermination of the Papists w’as 
their avowed object. Ruthless, gaunt, and terrible as hungry 
wolves, the Puritans rushed on their prey, intent only on des- 
truction. Such were the soldiers of the Covenant, and Ormond 
knew it well — he knew they were bent on uprooting that mon- 
archy which he professed to uphold, and yet so far from assist- 
ing the Confederates to oppose them, he secretly abetted their 
designs as far, at least, as Catholics were concerned. Thus it 
was that while Mountgarret and Muskerry, and Father Peter 
Walsh, and all the rest of that faction were blindly playing into 
the hands of the new Lord Lieutenant, he was coquetting at the 
same time with Broghill and Inchiquin. Whilst his royal master 
was urging him by every means to conciliate the Confederate 
Catholics, and conclude a permanent peace with them, he was 
raising objections to their just demands, and excusing himself 
under one pretence and another from joining them against the 
Puritans. Many fine promises were made by him, and to 
believe Father Peter Walsh, nothing was so near his heart as 
the overthrow of the Puritans ; but, nevertheless, things went 
on as they were, the Parliamentarians steadily gaining ground, 
the Confederates scrupulously observing the C essation with the 
king’s troops,* and maintaining the war against the king’s ene- 
mies and their own. 


* So strict were they in the observance of the truce that Lieuten- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


351 


Whilst the Council was still rejoicing over the concessions 
made by the king, word was brought that Sligo had been taken 
by the northern Scotch under Stewart, and was by him held for 
the Parliament. No news could be more unwelcome at that 
moment, for Sligo was on the direct road to Galway, and Galway 
was one of the principal strongholds in possession of the Confede- 
rates. All was fear and consternation in Kilkenny, for the safety 
of all Connaught was now at stake. The altars so lately re- 
covered, the temples so carefully adorned and beautified, all, all- 
wero exposed to the fury of the fanatic, and must be protected 
at any cost. 

Sir James Dillon was ordered to proceed immediately to the 
relief of Sligo with what forces wore available in the neighbor- 
hood of Kilkenny, but, alas ! they W’ere far short of the numbers 
necessary for that perilous enterprize. What they lacked in 
numbers, however, they made up in courage and resolution, and 
their enthusiasm knew no bounds when the venerable and pa- 
triotic Archbishop of Tuam placed himself at their head. 

In vain did his brethren of the episcopacy and even the lay- 
lords seek to dissuade him from risking a life so precious. 

“ Think you, my lords,” said the heroic prelate, “ I could 
leave my poor people under the hoof of Stewart and Hamilton — 
no, no, Sligo must be relieved, come what may, that is to say, 
we must make the attempt, and should it please God that we 
fail, Malachy O’Kelly you will see no more. Would to Heaven 
that the sacrifice of so poor a life could deliver Sligo, or stop the 
" murderous career of the Puritans — oh ! freely, freely were it' 
given !” 

What could be said to such a man at such a moment— his 
brother bishops could only breathe a silent prayer for his 
safety and watch his departure with beating hearts. So he 
girded on his sword to do battle for the faith, and took his 
place by Dillon’s side amid the cheers and prayers and tears of 
those who remained behind. His example was eagerly fol- 
lowed by several clergymen belonging to his archdiocese, who 
were proud of taking up arms in so holy a cause. 

ant-General Purcell was sent to chastise some of their own cumhef 
who had violated its articles. 


352 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Not. many of those who marched from Kilkenny that day ever 
returned within its walls. A few days after, whilst the whole 
city was in a fever of anxiety to know the result of the expedi- 
tion, a small party of cavalry approached the walls with Sir 
James Dillon at their head, almost every man bearing more or 
less the marks of bloody conflict.’ Nor banner, nor music had 
they, nor baggage of any kind, and it needed not words to de- 
clare what their wan, dejected faces and doleful plight told all 
too well. 

News of battle ! who bath brought it ? 

All are thronging to the gate ; 

“ 'Warder— warder ! open quickly 
Man— is this a time to wait V' 

And the heavy gates aro opene 1 
Theu a murmur long and loud, 

And a cry of fear and wonder 

Bursts from out the bending crowd. 

“ Silence !” cried the stern voice of Mountgarret as he and 
Lord Glamorgan, with some other lords and gentlemen, dashed 
up at a gallop ; “ Sir James Dillon, this is a dreary sight — where 
have you left the Archbishop V’ 

“ He hath won the martyr’s crown, my lord,” was the sad 
reply, “ cut to pieces was he by the swords of Hamilton’s troopers 
— a little way from the walls of Sligo— wiUi his priests around 
him .%ithful to the last.” 

Wo, wo, and lamentation ! 

What a piteous cry was there ! 

Widows, maidens, mothers, children. 

Shrieking, sobbing in despair I’*’ 

“ Good Heavens ! Sir James, and you shame not to tell tliat 
you left him there— left his consecrated body a prey to the 
rage of the fanatic 1” 

“ You would not reproach us. Lord Mountgarret,” said Dillon 
mournfully, “ an’ you knew but all. We had made our way into 

* Aynton’s Lays qf tJu Scottish Cavaliers. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


353 


the town over heaps of the dead and dying. His Grace of Tuam 
fighting like a hero in the van, and the townspeople thronging to 
onr assistance, Sligo would soon have been ours, when, probably, 
by a sharp device of the enemy, drums and fifes were heard in 
the distance, and the terrible cry of ‘ Coote to the rescue !’ 
resounded through the streets above the din of battle. Fearful 
of seeing our brave fellows attacked front and rear by the Puri- 
tans, in which case their destruction was inevitable, the Arch- 
bishop commanded a retreat — we retired accordingly with our 
face ho the foe, fighting every inch of the way, but, alas! the 
terror of Coote had taken possession of our soldiers, and, think- 
ing every moment that he was on their rear with his fierce blood- 
hounds, a panic ran through the ranks, the stout arras lost their 
strength — horse and foot began to waver, the enemy saw it 
and pressed us more closely, the cry of ‘ Coote I Coote 1’ ringing 
in our ears from behind — back, back to the gates — out through 
them in wild disorder, and by the time the outside was gained, 
all authority was at an end. A general rout followed, and our 
heroic Archbishop, disdaining to fly, was cut to pieces with his 
priests who gathered around him in the vain hope of saving his 
life. For us, my lords,” he said proudly, as soon as the cries of 
the multitude permitted • his voice to be heard, “For us — the 
sad survivors of that fatal fray — I say not w'hat we did — suffice 
it that our numbg’s had not been so few were it not for the 
repeated efibrts made to- recover the Archbishop’s body.” 

“ Heaven help us all this day !*’ said Mountgarret with a 
heavy sigh ; “ who can wonder, my Lord Glamorgan, that we of 
Uie Council long for peace. He was ever opposed to it, and 
see what thing hath come upon him.” 

Of course it was Lord Glamorgan’s interest to coincide fully 
w’ith the aged President, and to represent the calamitous death 
of the Archbishop as a judgment from Heaven on those who 
kept the people from returning to their allegiance. There was 
none present there to gainsay so foul a calumny on the dead. 

Far different were the feelings of O’Neill and McMahon, and 
the other Irish members of the Council, when the doleful tidings 
reached them. Not to si)eak of ihe loss of that powerful and 
influential prelate whoso strong and vigorous mind had exercised 


354 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


a salutary control over the temporizing Norman lords, as his 
fervent piety and sterling patriotism commanded the respect of 
all, there was the maddening thought that he had fallen hy the 
hands of the Puritan butchers, his consecrated remains hacked 
and mutilated to glut their diabolical hatred. He that was ever 
first to feel for their wrongs — he that had been so moved but 
late by the judicial murder of Maguire and McMahon, he that 
had never spared himself to advance the common weal, that ho 
should have been abandoned in his last moments to the fury of 
the murdering Scotch, while so many thousands of his faithful 
people were in arms the country ov er — oh ! it was torture to ' 
think of it, and the hot-headed chiefs of the Gael, few as they 
were in that assembly, raised such a commotion that Glamorgan 
and the Ormondists were alarmed for the peace. The bishops 
were less noisy in the manifestation of their grief, but they felt 
their loss most sensibly. They, nevertheless, regarded the fate 
of their departed brother as enviable, now that the bitterness of 
death was past, and the palm of martyrdom gloriously won. 
So they celebrated his obsequies with all the solemn pomp befit- 
ting the occasion, in the old Cathedral of St. Canice, the aged 
bishop of Ossory presiding at the altar, while bishops and arch- 
bishops, and stoled priests without number, joined in the funeral 
chant, and the armed Confederates who thronged nave and aisle 
made the responses sound like the growl oMistant thunder. 

Such was the end of Malachy O’Kclly, Archbishop of Tuam, 
one of the leading spirits of the Confederation — another martyr 
to tlie cause of truth and justice ! 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


355 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“ Oh ! names like his bright beacons are 
To realms that kings oppress, 

Hailing with radiant light from far 
Their signals of distress.” 

Spirit qfthe Nation. 

It was the thirteenth day of November, 1645, and the old city 
of Kilkenny was again in motion. The gloom and horror of the 
Archbishop’s death had passed away — its memory uneflfaced, 
but covered over by newer impressions — and the citizens were 
again crowding the streets with eager, expectant faces, and the 
sounds of joy were heard on every side. The city once more 
wore its holyday garb, and even the glories of that day, four 
years gone by, when the Confederation took life and form, were 
eclipsed by the splendor of this new occasion. From the earli- 
est hours of the morning crowds were hurrying from all direc- 
tions within and without the walls towards St. Patrick’s Gate, 
and there they patiently stood regardless of the drizzling rain 
which all day long sfS'eamed down incessantly. 

Just outside the wall, close by St. Patrick’s Gate, was then 
situate the old Church of St. Patrick, where a new one of the 
same name now “ rears the cross on high.” The hour of noon 
was not far olF, when on a sudden the bell of the Black Abbey 
rung out a joyous peal, answered quickly by the Church of St, 
Francis. Forth at once from the gray old Church outsidfe the 
gate issued in long procession the regular and secular clergy of 
the city, heading towards the gate, and preceded by the gor- 
geous banners of their respective orders. A joyous stir was 
visible amongst tlie multitude, and cries of ” he comes ! he 
comes!” rang through the crowded streets, caught up from 
mouth to mouth. All eyes were turned on the old gate, and 
presently appeared from under its arch a sight that made every 
heart thrill, and brought tears of joy from many an eve. Sur- 


356 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


rounded by the noblest gentlemen of the country, amongst whom 
was conspicuous Richard Butler, Lord Netterville, and Rich- 
ard Belling,* and followed by a dense multitude of people from 
the adjacent counties, who had joined the cortege as it passed 
along, came a noble-looking man of middle age, and of foreign 
aspect, robed as a high dignitary of the Church, and mounted 
on a horse richly caparisoned. This horse had been led out 
from the city to meet the exalted personage, who had jour- 
neyed till then in “ a rude litter.” The rain poured down fast and 
faster, but it could not damp the ardor of the citizens at that 
moment, nor dull the sound of the merry peal chiming out from 
every belfry of the town. The deep-mouthed cannon on the 
walls lent their thundering voice to swell the chorus of welcome ; 
and so it was amid the joyous shouts of thousands and tens of 
thousands, the pealing of bells and the booming of cannon that 
the stately priest entered the city of the Confederation. A 
costly canopy was held over him by four of the principal 
townsmen, their heads uncovered, regardless of the pelting rain, 
and no sooner had he emerged from beneath the arch than he 
was met by the Vicar-General of the diocese of Ossory, the 
mayor and aldermen of the city, and the chief magistrates of 
the county. Having welcomed the illustrious stranger to the 
ancient city of St. Canice, these dignitaries took their place in 
the procession amid the loud plaudits of the people. 

On then moved the brilliant cortege and the mighty multi- 
tude, faster and louder pealed the bells, and heavier boomed 
the cannon ; on and on, following the line of Patrick street, till 
the old market cross stood in its antique beauty before the ad- 
miring eyes of the stranger, and he paused a moment to look 
more closely at that interesting monument of medieval taste 
and piety. Just then issued from the bishop’s house nearly 
opposite, a company of fifty students clad in their collegiate 
costume. At their head was one whose noble proportions well 
became the Roman toga which fell in ample folds around him 

* The Secretary Belling had accompanied the Nuncio from Rome. 
Butler, Netterville, and some other gentleman of rank had been sent 
by the Supreme Council to meet him as soon as they heard of his 
landing on the southern coast. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


357 


and the laurel wreath which encircled his brows. No sooner 
had the foreign prelate paused before the ancient cross than 
this young man stepped forward, and with lowly reverence re- 
cited a Latin oration which appeared to give the stranger no 
ordinary pleasure for he turned to Lord Netterville at his side 
and smiled his approbation. When he had responded by a few 
graceful words in the same language, thanking the young gen- 
tlemen for their courtesy and delicately alluding to their class- 
ical attainments, they, in their turn, joined the procession, and 
the canopy was again in motion, nor stopped till it reached St. 
Canice’s holy hill. The crowd immediately fell back on either 
side, and the procession moved slowly up the hill amid the 
deafening cheers of the multitude. 

Under the deep arch of the grand portal of St. Canice’s stood 
the venerable figure of Bishop Rothe, bowed down with age as 
we have elsewhere described him, yet noble and commanding 
even in decay. His numerous infirmities had prevented him 
from joining the procession, so he stood at the door of hia Ca- 
thedral awaiting its approach with a cheerful, benignant smile 
lighting up his shrunken features, while ever and anon he 
turned to express his satisfaction to the few priests whom he 
had kept with him, amongst whom was conspicuous the lank 
figure and pale face of the Italian Scarampi ! 

At length the canopy was set down in front of the Church, 
and the stately stranger alighting from his horse advanced 
towards the bishop. Surely it was the proudest moment in 
David Rothe’s life* when he welcomed to the city of Kilkenny 
and the old Church of St. Canice the Archbishop of Fermo, 
JVuncto of his Eoliness Innocent X, sent by that good Pontiff 
to promote the cause of religious freedom in Ireland, and to 

* Three years before the occurrences here narrated, David, Bishop 
of Ossory, had erected a monument to commemorate the restoration 
of St. Canice’s Cathedral to the ancient worship, and it needs no 
flight of fancy to suppose that on this momerable occasion he may 
have echoed the words of the Canticle ; “ Now dismiss thy servant, 
because my eyes have seen salvation, and the glory of tby people, 
Israel ” — Confederation^ chap. V., p. 109. 


358 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


second by every means in his power the efforts of the Confede- 
rate Catholics ! Such was the style and dignity of the stranger, 
John Baptist Rinuccini^ name dear to every Irish heart. 

Old and infirm as he was, Bishop Rothe would have knelt 
before the representative of the Holy Father, but that the 
Nuncio would not permit. Raising the old man with an air of 
filial reverence he tenderly embraced him, and then both 
together entered the Cathedral, followed by bishops and priests, 
lords and gentlemen, and as much of the dense multitude as 
could possibly obtain admission. 

Oh ! it was a grand, a glorious scene, the interior of St. Canice’s 
at that moment, when the Nuncio ascending the steps of the high 
altar intoned the Te Deum^ the vast multitude catching up the 
sacred strain till the vaulted roof echoed with the exulting 
sounds. Never was that noblest of psalms sung on a loftier 
inspiration, never with more thrilling enthusiarm, as the voice of 
priest and prelate, knight and noble, blended in one harmonious 
volume of sound. 

Truly it was a grand occasion. Will Ireland ever see such 
another sight 1 Why was not Owen Roe there to witness it, or 
Rory O’More ! Alas ! poor O’More ! how his heart would have 
thrilled to those glorious sounds, how that vision of light and 
splendor would have charmed his poetic mind ! But it might 
not be — it might not be — far in his Flemish exile he heard but 
the echo of his country’s voices, and saw its joys or sorrows but 
in dreams. 

“ Oh ! joyously, triumphantly, sweet sounds ye swell and float !”t 

Even now after the lapse of over two hundred years we can 
feel the gushing joy that was “ borne on every note,” but to 
those who sang there was an under-tone of sorrow running 
throughout the gladsome strain ; even that stately Italian pre- 
late thought of the martyred dead — how was it then with the 
kinsmen of Maguire and McMahon, and the episcopal brethren 
of O’Kelly I 

As if reading the thoughts of many there, the Nuncio, after 
giving his blessing to the multitude from the steps of the altar. 


t Mrs. Hemans. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


359 


demanded of Bishop Rothe whether the Archbishop’s obsequies 
had yet been celebrated. Being answered in the aflarmative he 
expressed his satisfaction. 

“ For my own part,” said he in Latin, “ 1 celebrated them in 
Limerick on my way hither. Oh ! may Heaven receive thy soul 
in glory !” he added, looking upwards with characteristic fervor, 
“ faithful guide of these faithful people, — pastor who gave thy 
life for thy sheep, a high place in heaven, sure, is thine! Pray 
thou for us as we for thee — pray for us that it be given us to 
accomplish the deliverance of thy people !” 

After an hour or two given to rest and refreshment in the 
house prepared for the Nuncio’s reception, during which interval 
Lord Muskerry, General Preston and others of the Confederate 
Chiefs paid their respects to him, — he set out on foot accom- 
panied by his Italian retinue. Bishop McMahon, Belling, Netter- 
ville, Butler and many others to visit the aged President of the 
Council — who had not as yet made his appearance. 

SU-angely enough, as it appears to us, it was in the Castle of 
Kilkenny that Lord Mountgarret received the Pope’s Ambassa- 
dor, and we may hope that Richard Butler’s heart swelled with 
joy and pride as he welcomed the Nuncio to the lordly dwelling 
of his fathers. Bitter, however, must have been the thought 
that the present head of his house was a renegade from the 
faith of the stern old Catholic Butlers. 

Those who have seen the Castle of Kilkenny need no descrip- 
tion of that stately pile, yet even they can hardly realize what 
it was when the Nuncio Rinuccini honored it with a visit on that 
memorable occasion. The many additions made to the original 
edifice by the dukes and marquises of Ormond have added 
little to its beauty, how much soever they may have increased 
its splendor. The baronial grandeur is still there, more strik- 
ing, perhaps, than ever, but the architectural harmony and 
completeness is gone. Nevertheless, it was then, as it is now, 
a dwelling not unworthy the Butlers of Ormond, towering in its 
pride over the rapid waters of the Nore and looking down with 
an air of protection on the fair city resting at its feet. 

When the Nuncio reached the Castle hall with his retinue, he 
was received at the foot of the grand staircase by the Arch- 


3G0 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


bishops of Dublin and Cashel, by whom he was condncted to 
the great gallery, at the farther end of which Lord Mountgarret 
awaited his arrival. The stately old nobleman was seated on 
a chair richly adorned, whilst near him was the seat intended 
for the Nuncio covered with damask and gold, with the ponti- 
fical arms magnificently emblazoned on the back. 

Mountgarret arose as the Nuncio approached, but instead of 
going forward to meet him, as etiquette would have required, 
he stood awaiting his approach. Without appearing to notice 
this want of courtesy (to say the least of it) Rinuccini at once 
addressed the President in the Latin language : 

“ My Lord President,” said he with that lofty air of command 
which was natural to him, “ my Lord President, it is hardly ne- 
cessary to inform you that his Holiness Pope Innocent X. (suc- 
cessor to Urban VIII. of happy memory) hath deputed me 
with the fullest authority to take part in the struggle so nobly 
maintained by the pious Confederate Catholics of Ireland. Your 
cause he esteems as the cause of Catholicity, and he well com- 
mendeth the patience and constancy shown by you in carrying 
on this thrice-bles-ed war.” 

Here the President’s countenance fell, and he seemed for a mo- 
ment as though about to interrupt the speaker, but he pro- 
bably thought better of it and kept silent. 

“ His Holiness,” went on the Nuncio, “ hath it also much at 
heart that the king of England’s cause should prosper to the 
confusion of the evil-minded men who have manifested their dis- 
loyal sentiments towards him. It would give our common Fa- 
ther much contentment were his faithful children of Ireland in 
a position to aid their king in his struggle with his rebellious 
Parliament.” Mountgarret’s face brightened up again, whilst he 
and the other leading Ormondists exchanged significant glances. 

“ Our desire is to support the king,” repeated Rinuccini, whose 
keen eye had not failed to detect the meaning looks of those 
around him, although their full signification was not as yet 
known to him. “ Truly that is one great object to be kept in 
view, but the first and greatest duty of you and me and of 
every Catholic, is to battle for the right — for the free untram- 
meled exercise of our holy religion, aye ! to the shedding of all 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


3G1 


our blood. No compromise, no treaty, no tampering with the 
enemy until the Catholic faith be re-established in this realm as 
it was at the time of the Reformation, or in the earlier part of 
the reign of Henry VIII. That, gentlemen Confederates, is the 
main and primary object of our endeavors, and with less than 
that I, John Baptist Rinuccini, will never rest contented, nor yet 
will his Holiness Innocent X., who is fully resolved to uphold 
you in your struggle to the utmost extent of his resources. 
Oh ! soldiers of the Cross !” he added, turning with enthusiastic 
fervor to the crowd of dords and gentlemen by that time as- 
sembled in the gallery, “ dauntless sons of Catholic Ireland, 
be not deceived in this matter. Hearken not to those who 
would cool your zeal or incite you to give up mid-way in your 
path — treachery is abroad — the enemy is gnawing at the roots 
of the stately tree whose branches now cover the land — as ye 
love your own souls — as ye love that faith for which your fathers 
lost lands, and livings, and life itself, go on with the good work 
now so far advanced — an’ the tempter lure ye from the patl), 
our cause is lost, Catholic Europe will blush for shame, and the 
paternal heart of Innocent will bleed for your infatuation. But 
no ! you will not thus tamely yield what your valor hath won ! 
By the bones of your slaughtered kin, by the bitter pains of per- 
secution, by all the memories of your wrongs, it shall not be ! 
you will follow up your advantage, and grasp that glorious 
victory which is even now within your reach.” 

“ Most reverend lord,” put in Mountgarret, “ you seem in 
ignorance of the peace which for wise and lawful ends we are 
negotiating,” 

“The which is much needed in this distracted country,” echoed 
IMuskerry. 

“ Peace ! peace ! who talks of peace I” said the Nuncio 
sharply ; “ what manner of peace would you gain now with 
the enemy still in full strength 1 I have brought you, my lords 
and gentlemen, from our Most Holy Father, and other friends 
of the cause, that which will help you to win real peace, lasting 
peace — I have brought you such supplies of arms and am- 
munition as never crossed the seas to you before ; money, too, 
hath his Holiness sent you from his own treasury, and my 
16 


362 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


valued friend, Father Luke Wadding, hath also forwarded by 
me some 36,000 crowns, all which I have and do hold for your 
use in red Spanish gold. By using these to advantage you can 
make peace, on your own terms, such peace as alone is worth 
^ having, that is to say, peace based on full and entire freedom.” 
'■ “To what extent would your grace have us demand freedom T’ 
said Mountgarret coldly. 

“ To the extent, my Lord President, of placing the Catholic 
religion on an equality with all others — freedom for your homes, 
freedom for your altars, freedom for your clergy ; also that res- 
titution be made the church for the robberies of these latter ages, 
which is to say that her property be restored to her intact. 
This is the freedom w^hich will secure 'peace, this is the free- 
dom which the Father of the faithful desires to see established 
amongst you, and for which end he hath sent me hither, not to 
make treaties for the convenience and contentment of a Protest- 
ant viceroy.” 

“ My Lord Nuncio,” said a smooth oily voice from behind the 
President’s chair, “ I pray you suspend your opinion of this 
matter till such time ” 

“And who are ijouV demanded the Nuncio, breaking in 
abruptly. 

“An humble son of St. Francis,” said the smooth voice 
again. 

“And a devoted servant of Ormond,” whispered Bishop 
French, at the Nuncio’s side. 

“ Advance and show yourself,” said Rinuccini with some stern- 
ness, and forthwith Father Peter Walsh made himself visible in 
the brown habit of his order. The Nuncio returned his lowly 
reverence with a slight bend of his stately head, and then eyed 
him for a moment with that keen scrutiny which reads men’s 
hearts, then waved him back with a motion of his hand, as 
though desiring no further acquaintance. A crest-fallen man was 
Father Peter, but his troubles were not yet over. 

“ There now,” said another voice from the depth of an ad- 
joining doorway ; “ there now. Father Peter Walsh ! take that 
for your pains, and it’s you that well deserves it. It isn’t the 
poor simj)le Bishop of Clogher you have now !” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


3G3 


Not even tlie presence of the Nuncio could repress the burst 
of laughter that ran around the room, whilst the grave Italians 
wondered what it all meant, and looked from one to the other 
in blank amazement. The Nuncio himself, however, could not 
repress a smile when the matter was explained to him. But 
no one enjoyed the joke more than Bishop McMahon, albeit 
that it touched him on a sore spot which he would now fain 
conceal. 

“Malachy, my dear man,” said he with a good-humored 
smile, “ this is not the place for you, sog garth and all as you 
are.” 

“ I know that, my lord,” said the quaint appendage to the 
see of Clogher, “ and it isn’t the place I’d be in either only for a 
letter that came for you there a while ago from a place called 
Flanders, wherever that may be, dear knows ! It’s a priest that 
came with it, and he says it’s from Master Rory O’More, and 
that there’s a power of money in it for paying the men, and 
everything that way.” 

An exclamation of surprise and pleasure escaped many even 
of the Ormond faction on hearing this announcement, and all 
forgot that there was anything ludicrous in the medium through 
which it was conveyed. The name of Roger O’More was still 
dear to all the Confederates, and they rejoiced to hear that 
he yet took an interest in their affairs, and was working for 
them beyond the sea. 

“ When it rains it pours,” muttered the old President to 
himself in a querulous tone ; “an’ we wanted their supplies we 
might not have them in such plenty.” 

“ They will stand u s in good stead for the king’s service,” 
suggested Nicholas Plunket in a low voice at his elbow as 
if reading his thoughts. 

Bishop McMahon, having dismissed Malachy to see after the 
entertainment of O’xMore’s reverend messenger, addressed the 
President and the assembled Confederates with that overpower- 
ing energy which distinguished him from most others. He 
declared himself entirely opposed to any further negotiations 
with the enemy until such time as they could command their 
own terms. 


364 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ War ! war ! war !” said he, “ war unceasing ! — no more 
truce-making, no more parleying — Rome hath spoken, we have 
hut to obey. My lords and gentlemen and brother Confede- 
rates, there is but one way for us, and that is the way that 
leads to victory. How can we fail to look forward with hope 
when the Head of the Church has sent his representative to 
aid us in the contest ? when money, and arms, and all things 
needful are showering on us like dew from heaven 7 God is 
with us, brethren ! that is plain — wherefore, then, lay down 
the sword that hath gained so much until all is gained 7 Let it 
not be said of us that we lacked the courage or the perseverance 
to finish the work so well begun ! Freedom is more than 
half won, shall we not win it 7 Ay, truly, though we die for 
it — what is death in such a cause 7” 

Bishop McMahon’s address was heard with alarm by the 
Ormondists present who had of late been reckoning on that en- 
terprizing prelate as a friend to the peace. They W'ere fain, how- 
ever, to conceal their chagrin, but it did not escape the piercing 
eyes of the Nuncio, who took leave of Mountgarret that day 
with a feeling of contempt for the pitiful weakness that made 
so many of the Confederate chiefs actually subservient to Lord 
Ormond, in whom the astute prelate already saw the arch enemy 
of the Catholic cause. 

He was accompanied on his return by Lords Muskerry and 
Netterville, and on leaving the Castle he found General Preston 
waiting with his troops under arms to conduct him to his do- 
micile. The Nuncio seemed pleased with this attention, although 
it was no more than he had a right to expect. 

Returning to his homo he found the Earl of Glamorgan in 
anxious expectation of his coming. Being introduced by Lord 
Muskerry, Glamorgan proceeded at once to business, and informed 
the Nuncio of his royal master’s willingness to do all that lay 
in his power to ameliorate the condition of his Catholic subjects 
in Ireland. But, in order to enable him to carry out his benefi- 
cent designs, the Earl said, he must have good help from them 
without any delay for the i)rosecution of the w'ar in England, 
where the rebels were fast gaining ground. 

“ Thus your grace cannot but see,” added Glamorgan, “ that 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


365 


the king’s cause and that of the Confederate Caiholics are at 
this moment identically the same. To sustain his highness 
against the rebellious Puritans is in reality to sustain yourselves 
— ourselves, I would say !” 

The Nuncio smiled at some passing thought, hut he said 
gravely : “ What security have we, my Lord Earl, that such be 
his Majesty of England’s gracious intentions in our regard 7 
Here we have his trusted friend Ormond, standing out against our 
just demands in regard to religiop, and protesting that he will 
never consent to the public re-establishment of the ancient faith, 
no, not even to secure the peace so necessary to his master’s in- 
terest. How is it, my Lord Glamorgan V* 

“An’ your grace will condescend to read these documents,” 
said the Earl, “ one of them a letter to yourself under his 
highness’ own hand, you will see that my powers in this matter 
are no less ample than those of my Lord Ormond.” 

As the Nuncio read his dark face gradually brightened, and 
by the time he reached the end of the last epistle his doubts 
seemed almost to have vanished. 

“ I am much beholden to your royal master,” said he, “ in 
that he hath been pleased to write me what I take to be a solemn 
promise to do justice to the Catholics of this realm as soon as 
his present diflSculties will permit. He commends you to me in 
the highest terms of praise, and assures me on the word of a 
pi ince that whatsoever engagements you contract in his name 
he will see duly ratified — on condition that we will aflbrd him 
and I esteem it a favorable augury as regards the success of my 
mission. For the rest, your lordship’s instructions are of the 
mission. For the rest, your lordship’s instructions are of the 
most satisfactory nature. Were the Marquis of Ormond less pre- 
judiced against our cause all would go well.” 

I Glamorgan made an attempt to defend the marquis on the 
score of “ expediency,” but the Nuncio shook his head and looked 
incredulous. Preston just then made his appearance and Rinuc- 

* This letter of Charles the First to the Nuncio Riouccini is beyond 
all doubt authentic. Its authenticity indeed is hardly ever called in 
question. 


3G6 ^ THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

ciiii abruptly asked for General O’Neill, “ whose bravery and 
prudence,” said he, “ I have heard much extolled in Rome.” 

“ Humph !” said the Leinster general with a supercilious 
smile, “ he keeps, for the most part, with his half-naked kern in 
his own province; — mayhap fame hath blown his trumpet over 
loudly. But late he hath had to get help here against the Scots, 
and the Council being of no such opinion as your grace, with 
regard to his bravery or prudence, gave the command to my 
Lord Castlehaven, who is, indeed, far beyond O’Neill in military 
skill.” 

Rinuccini listened with a sad misgiving, too surely justified 
by succeeding events. 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


3G7 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“ Nay, Father, tell us not of help from Leinster’s Norman Peei.., 

If we shall shape our holy cause to match their selfish fears — 
Helpless and hopeless be their cause, who brook a vain delay, 

Our ship is launched, our flag’s afloat, whether they coma or stay. 

“ Let silken Howth and savage Slane still kiss their tyrant’s rod, 

And pale Dunsany still prefer his monarch to his God, 

Little we lack their fathers’ sons, the marchmen of the Pale, 

While Irish hearts and Irish hands have Spanish blades and mail. 

“ Then let them stay to bow and fawn, or fight with cunning words ; 
I fear me more their courtly arts than England’s hireling swords ; 
Natlieless their creed they hate us still, as the Despoiler hates. 

Would God they loved their prey no more, our kinsmen’s lost estates !” 

C. G. Dufft. 

A FEW weeks after tlie Nuncio’s arrival in Kilkenny, a meet- 
ing of the General Assembly took place at his request. He was 
naturally anxious to see what materials he had to work upon, 
and the various leaders brought face to face so that he might 
judge for himself how they stood affected towards each other. 
It was the first time he had seen the two races brought into im- 
mediate contact, and he looked anxiously for the result. The 
meeting was a full one as might be supposed. Castlehaven was 
there full of the idea that he had been the salvation of the Con- 
federate forces in Ulster, endangered, as he basely insinuated, 
by supineness, “ or something worse,”* on the part of Owen Roe. 
Preston was there, too, looking fierce and warlike as ever, and 
Owen Roe was there with his cold, calm smile and collected mien, 
and his keen observing glance. There, too, was Sir Phelim, de- 
termined to put in his claim for a share in the command of the 
northern army. Most of the Ulster chiefs were, indeed, present, 
as were also the great Irish toparchs of the south and west, 


* See his Memoirs. 


308 


TFIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


w^lst the Palesmen were there in full muster anxious to con- 
clude the peace with Ormond and fearing the opposition of the 
Chieftains, now more formidable than ever from the presence 
and declared sentiments of the Nuncio. 

The question of the peace was, of course, the first that came 
up for discussion, and Rinuccini had soon the desired opportu- 
nity of fathoming the hearts of the Confederate Chiefs. 

Mountgarret and Muskerry, Netterville and Qormanstown, 
Fingal and Howth, and many another name in high esteem 
amongst the Confederates, were all urgent for peace — peace on 
any terms, so as to leave the king at liberty to oppose the Eng- 
lish rebels. 

“Truly, yes,” said Castlehaven, “it devolves on us as loyal 
gentlemen to waive all other matters for the present — our treaty 
with my lord of Ormond doth secure us against religious 
persecution ” 

“ Until such time,” said Owen Roe, “ as the enemy recovers his 
strength — no longer. See you not, my lords and gentlemen, 
that we gain nothing by this treaty but bare toleration for our 
religion — scarcely even that — whereas we bind ourselves to aid 
the king with men, money, arms, and even provisions ; his 
majesty, after all, reserving to himself the consideration of our 
claims ^ What manner of bargain is that, lords and gentlemen ? 
They have the substance, we the shadow.” 

The Nuncio looked at Owen Roe with a smile of approbation, 
which did not escape the Norman lords. 

“ Such language well becomes you. General O’Neill,” Castle- 
haven replied quickly ; “ an’ his highness had no more loyal 
subjects here in Ireland than they of the old blood, small aid 
might he hope for in his sore need. Shame on the Catholic 
who at such a moment presses hina for concessions beyond his 
power to grant !” 

“ Your pardon, my lord !” said Bishop French, “ he did not 
grant them when he had the power. Far be it from me, how- 
ever, to make light of his majesty’s distresses — may Heaven 
confound his enemies — but I am entirely of General O’Neill’s 
opinion — the king and his deceitful lieutenant, Ormond, are 
driven by hard necessity to seek our aid — what are they giving 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


369 


US in exchange 1 Nothing, that I can see, only empty promises, 
and even tliey far from meeting our just expectations.” 

“ You do his majesty much injustice, my reverend lord,” said 
Glamorgan, who occupied a seat near the Nuncio ; “ what more 
can you desire, or in reason demand, than he hath empowered 
me to promise you in his name 

“ I deny it not,” said the prelate curtly, “ but I much fear for 
the performance thereof. An’ your articles, my Lord Glamor- 
gan, were likely to he carried out, I would be the first to urge 
a peace, hut to ray thinking, as matters stand, it were best not 
to lay down the arms which have brought the proud Ormond to 
treat us with some show of respect.” 

“ An’ ray advice be taken,” said Owen Roe, “ there would 
be no peace made with any king or any party that could not 
or would not guarantee the free exercise of our religion, the 
restoration of Church property, and for our bishops the right of 
sitting as spiritual peers — in short, that all penal restrictions 
be removed — w'e have the power, lords and gentlemen, to bring 
this about, wherefore stop short ? — wherefore throw away the 
golden fruit within our reach — the fruit of our four years’ heavy 
toil — the fruit of our martyrs’ blood 1 King Charles’ cause is 
not without our sympathy, but the ancient faith of our fathers — 
the sufferings of our own kith and kin on account of their fidel- 
ity have the first claim on our attention. My lords and gentle- 
men, I will never consent to any such peace as this of Or- 
mond’s !” 

“ You speak as though the treaty were in your pocket !” said 
Castlehaven in a tone of contempt. ■ 

“ Or rather he thinks Hugh O’Neill’s sword sharp enough to 
cut it !” said Preston with bitter irony. “ Not that I am much 

in favor of the treaty myself, but ” 

” General Preston,” exclaimed Sir Phelim with his usual im- 
petuosity, “ Owen and myself are not often of the same mind, 
but by the Red Hand of Tjr-Owen we are this time. One 
battle gained is worth all the treaties you could make in a year. 
The sword and not the pen must secure our rights.” 

“ With all respect,” said Philip O’Reilly, “ I humbly submit 
that his Mnjesty of England hath no such claim to our grati- 


370 


THE CONFEDERATE CIIJEFTAINS. 


tude as that we serve him rather than our Holy Mother the 
Church, for whose honor and well-being we first commenced 
this war.” 

In an instant Mountgarret, Musherry, and Castlehaven were 
on their feet, all eager to protest against what they were 
pleased to call this “ seditious language.” Sir Lucas Dillon, too, 
smoothly expressed his horror, and Nicholas Plunket declared 
himself much amazed. 

“Most reverend lord,” said Owen Roe, addressing the Nuncio 
in the Spanish language, “ I humbly pray that you be not scan- 
dalized at our warmth of speech. We of the old blood are apt 
to speak our thoughts over freely, but as for ‘ sedition’ we hold 
ourselves as loyal men as those who stood hat in hand but late 
in front of Ormond’s tent bowing before him like—” 

“ Like hungry dogs begging for bones!” suggested Sir Phe- 
lim, whereupon the Irish chieftains laughed and the Normans 
waxed wroth. 

“ We appeal to the Nuncio,” said Muskerry pale with anger. 

“ So do we,” said Owen Roe, “ let his grace decide between 
us — you for peace and toleration^ we for -war and independence, 
as regards religion !” 

The Nuncio rose and all were silent, while every eye was 
turned upon him. For a momenrhis eagle glance scanned the 
assembly as though taking in its numbers and general charac- 
ter, then, gradually narrowing its range, it rested on the faces 
of those who had taken the lead in the discussion. The sternly 
knitted brow and the keen searching eye that gleamed from 
beneath it gave no indication as to which party had his sympa- 
thies, but his words speedily removed all doubt. 

“ General O’Neill,” said he, “ I think as you do.” He paused 
and looked around as though challenging opposition. No one 
at first ventured to speak — and Rinuccini proceeded. 

“ I say now in public that which I have said to many of you 
in private, that I came hither on the part of the Sovereign Pon- 
tiff to aid you in your struggle for freedom — whatsoever diverges 
from that object is beyond my province. I deeply feel for the 
cruel position wherein your monarch is placed — so does the 
Holy Father, as witness the sums by him advanced for the sus- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


371 


tainment of the king of England, but nearer and dearer to my 
heart, yea, and to that of the Holy Father Innocent, is the cause of 
the long-suffering, ever faithful Catholics of Ireland. My lords 
and gentlemen of the Confederation, your cause is a sacred 
cause — it is our own '' — and he pressed his bosom with both 
hands with the impassioned energy of an Italian — “ it is an affair 
of life or death, not only to you but to millions yet unborn. * 
Either to worship God as freemen in the stately temples erected 
by your pious fathers, now happily again in your own posses- 
sion, or to run once more into the holes and caverns of the earth 
with the divine mysteries which are man’s proudest heritage. 
Like this noble chief, this worthy son of the great O’Neills” — turn- 
ing to Owen — “ I do not choose to accept mere toleration, when 
we can command the fullest measure of freedom.” 

“ Then,” said Mountgarret with ill-concealed vexation, “ we 
are to understand that your grace opposes the peace now pend- 
ing between us and my Lord of Ormond I” 

“Assuredly I do,” was the prompt reply, “unless that lord 
will consent to our just demands — on his terms, no peace — no 
peace for me — death a thousand times sooner — ay, even the 
bloody grave of Malachy O’Kelly, whose soul may Christ crown 
with glory !” 

“ It is well, my Lord Archbishop 1” said Mountgarret haught- 
ily ; “ it is well to know this so soon. Permit me to say, nathe- 
less, tliat the treaty hath already proceeded too far to be lightly 
broken off— -ay ! even by a Nuncio — for which good thing our 
Lord be praised.” 

“Are you a Catholic, my Lord Mountgarret was the Nun- 
do’s stern rebuke. 

“ Truly, yes, most reverend lord ! at least, I hope so.” 

“Nay, nay — say not a Catholic — an Ormondist rather — Or- 
mondists are ye all who tamper with the freedom of the Church 
to please that man — these he the Catholics" — and he pointed to 
the O’Neills and the other chiefs who had so warmly protested / 
against negotiating with Ormond. “ An’ you would deserve 
that proud title, do the will of God and His vicegerent on earth, 
even as they do — rather than the will of a Protestant governor, 
yea, a man who hates your religion as renegades only can !” 


372 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Brows were knitted amongst the haughty Palesmen, and 
faces grew red and then pale with anger, but it was only Mount- 
garret that spoke, and his whole frame trembled ani his thin 
lips were firmly compressed. 

“ Truly, my lord,” said he in a voice that ho vainly strove to 
keep steady, “ truly it is our misfortune — we of the English race 
— to have fallen so soon under your grace’s displeasure — I say 
it is our misfortune, but — but” — he paused and looked around 
as if to gather the suffrages of his own party — “ but 1 see not 
that our mishap is like to be soon remedied. We must live 
without your favor — since we may not have it on other terms 
than disloyalty to our lawful prince — for those,'' and he in his 
turn pointed to the chieftains of Irish blood, “ for those, they 
live and breathe in disaffection — loyalty they hardly know by 
name — but for us, my Lord Nuncio ! we are proud to acknov/- 
ledge our subjection to his gracious majesty Charles the First — 
we are British subjects — proud of the name — glorying in our 
allegiance 1” 

“ I tell you again, my Lord Mountgarret,” said Owen Koe 
more sternly than was his wont, “ we fling the word disloyalty 
back in your teeth — loyal men are we, but more loyal to God 
than to any earthly ruler — an’ your patron, Ormond, will not ratify 
my Lord Glamorgan’s treaty, he may make cartridges of his own 
— we'll none of it, so help us. Heaven !” 

“ How can you help itl” said Preston in a taunting tone. 

“ Ways or means are not wanting to us. Master Preston,” 
O’Neill replied with lofty self-reliance ; ” our motives are known 
to God — He will not abandon those who fight for the glory of 
Ills name.” 

“ Thank God !” said Rinuccini, ” there is still such faith to 
be found in Ireland 1” 

The upshot of this stormy debate was that the Nuncio caused 
all the arms and ammunition he brought from Italy to be 
conveyed to Kilkenny, and declared his intention of giving 
the whole to Owen O’Neill, together with the greater part of 
the money in his possession. This, of course, raised another 
stoi-m in the Council. The Norman lords and gentlemen were 
furious, and threatened to withdraw immediately from the Con- 


THE CONFEDERATE CIIIEI TAINS. 


373 


federation if a portion of the supplies were not given to Preston. 
After some deliberation, Rinuccini at length agreed, but the 
share he assigned to tbe Leinster general was so small compared 
with that given to O'Neill that the former could hardly be per- 
suaded to accept it. 

“ He may or may not,” said the uncompromising prelate, “ no 
moi’e shall he have. Ulster, I see plainly, must be the scene of a 
grand campaign, so as to clear it, if possibly we can, of those 
fanatical Scotsmen. There must our strength be concentrated, 
and,, for the present, General Preston must make shift -With what 
he has.” 

Owen Roe, then, was at length approaching the consummation 
of his cherished wish ; he was to have at his command the chief 
army of the Confederation, with supplies of every kind neces- 
sary for carrying on a determined and energetic war, such as 
might in a short time clear his own Ulster of the ruthless Puri- 
tans who had so long kept it in thrall. Stout Phelim, too, was 
by his side eager for the coming opportunity as a leashed hound 
for the chase. Surely, then, the day so long looked for was 
not far distant. 

Whilst the northern chieftains, inspired with fresh enthusiasm, 
hastened home to aid in the preparations for the opening cam- 
paign, the Confederates in Kilkenny were startled by the intel- 
ligence that Lord Glamorgan who had set out for Dublin with 
two Commissioners from the Council some days before had been 
arrested by order of the Lord Lieutenant on a charge of high 
treason. 

“ And how was it P’ Mountgarret asked in amazement of a 
gentleman who had accompanied the Commissioners from town ; 
“ what was there, I pray you, to substantiate such a charge 
against a well-known favorite of the king, whose house hath all 
along been distinguished for devotion to the royal cause P’* 

* The Marquis of Worcester, Glamorgan’s father, was one of the 
most trusted and eflacient of the royal Generals throughout that Puri- 
tan rebellion — it is said that he and his son, the Glamorgan of our 
story, between them-advanced the almost incredible sum of £220,000 
from their own private resources for the sustainment of the king. 


374 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


It seems the Marquis thinks there is cause sufficient,” re- 
plied Sir John Netterville, for he it was; “much did I hear at 
the Castle concerning a certain secret treaty of that Earl’s, a 
copy of which was found on the body of the Archbishop of Tuara 
— know you, my lords, anything of it^” 

The malicious glance of Netterville’s dark eye was not lost on 
Owen Roe who could hardly believe his own eyes that what he 
saw was real. Turning to the old Lord Netterville who chanced 
to be near him at the moment, he asked in utter amazement : 

“ Do mine eyes deceive me, or is yonder gay cavalier your 
lordship’s son 

“ Surely, yes — methought Sir John Netterville was well 
known to you.” 

“ So I thought, too, my lord, but the Sir John Netterville 
who was well known to me was a brave adventurous knight of 
the Confederation — the gentleman before us weareth Ormond’s 
colors, and cometh hither, moreover, an’ I mistake notj on Or- 
mond’s errand. I pray your lordship read mo this riddle !” 

“ It is easy of solution,” quoth the Palesman with icy cold- 
ness ; “ to serve Lord Ormond at the present time is to serve 
the Confederation.” 

“ Ha ! lieth the land that way T’ said O'Neill musingly, yet 
so loud that his words reached the ear of the young knight. 
For a moment his bold careless glance sank before the piercing 
eye of Owen Roe, but quickly he recovered his self-possession, 
and making his way behind the high-backed oaken seats of 
the hall to the place where O'Neill sat, he extended his hand 
with a smile which he meant for a cordial one. 

“ It is some time since we met. General !” 

“ The longer the better it would seem,” interrupted Owen, 
drawing himself up with a freezing air of contempt, and thrust- 
ing one hand into the breast of his jacket, whilst the other 
rested on his knee. “An’ I were in your boots with those 
colors topping my head, I would not stand where you do — no, 
not for the broad lands of Netterville !” 

Lord Netterville’s brow darkened and his hollow cheek turned 
ghastly pale. He was fain to speak, but could hot, and sat 
with his eye fixed on O’Neill as though spell-bound by the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


375 


extent of Ms audacity. His son was less surprised, but his 
anger, restrained by the place and the presence in which he 
found himself, was the deeper and the more concentrated. 

Approaching close to O’Neill, he stooped down and leaning 
over his shoulder whispered in a hissing tone : “ The favor of 
the fair Emmeline will surely make up for my defection — I 
sought her out but late in the sorry habitation your bounty 
hath given her — sought her, I own it in shame, to renew my 
suit, and ” 

“ And'l” inquired Owen, interested beyond concealment. 

“ And she spurned me from her as though I were a dog ! — 
ay, marry , did she !” and the unhappy young man ground his 
teeth in impotent rage, while the livid hue of his wasted cheek 
touched Owen’s heart with pity. “ She spoke such harsh and 
bitter words concerning our common ancestry — her own and 
mine — that madness itself could hardly excuse her. She hath 
gone mad, it is said within the Pale, since Maguire’s death ; 
ha ! ha ! ha ! a fitting end he made of it — for my part, I think 
you Irishry have bewitched her, and I swore an oath which I 
mean to keep, that henceforth we meet as foemen should !” 

“ But what of the oath of Confederation!” 

“As for that,” said Netterville with alight laugh, “let one 
cancel the other. I have sworn, I tell you, to thwart your 
views, and, mark me, the Macs and O’s shall rue the day they 
stepped between me and Emmeline ! 

“ Young man, you are my prisoner!” said O’Neill aloud, and 
he grasped him by the shoulder In an instant all was confu- 
sion ; astonishment was depicted on every face, for no one had 
overheard the whispered dialogue, and that Sir John Netterville 
should have been employed by Ormond to treat with his own 
friends seemed no way strange to the Norman lords. 

“ At your peril, arrest me !” said young Netterville fiercely, 
and he laid his hand on his sword. “ You dare not, Owen 
O’Neill! whilst your truce with Lord Ormond lasts— I came 
hither on the plighted word of your commissioners who might 
perchance share Glamorgan’s prison by now were it not for 
me!” 

At this moment the Nuncio entered, and the scene that met 


37G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


his eye was anything but encouraging, for it seemed as though 
the old and the new Irish were about to spring on each other 
with murderous intent. 

Several of the bishops w^ere already gathered around Owen 
Roe and the handsome young hnight — to Rinuccini a stranger 
— who still writhed in his iron grasp. There was a deep hush 
as the Nuncio approached and demanaed in Latin of Bishop 
French what this scene meant. Being informed he smiled sadly 
and shook his head, muttering to himself: “ It is -as I feared — 
these Ormondists are but one step from the enemy — their oath 
is the only tie that now binds them to us. May God change 
their hearts !” 

With a h<'avy sigh he motioned to O’Neill to let the young 
man eo, and Owen obeyed without a murmur, but he whispered 
in Netterville’s ear as he flung him back to the wall: “ We meet 
again at Phillippi ! — go now in peace !” 

With a black scowl of hate which made Owen wince with all 
his courage, Netterville took his father’s arm and both proceeded 
down the hall. Another trial awaited the renegade. Sir Phe- 
lim O’Neill had made his way into the Council-room, and hearing 
from Tirlogh what had taken place, he grasped Sir John’s arm 
as he passed him by. 

“ What ! turned traitor so soon I Doing Ormond’s dirty work 1 
Blood of the Nettervilles ! what a fall !” 

“ I have not taken to forgery yet. Sir Phelim,” said Netter- 
ville with a bitter sneer, “ when I do, say I have fallen, not 
before !” 

The effect of these words was so stunning that before Sir Phe- 
lim had recovered the shock, the Nettervilles, father and son, 
had left the hall. Looking round with a ghastly smile, the 
knight of Kinnard tried to pass the matter off as a jest : 

“ Truly he is a pleasant knave,” said he, “ that young Net- 
terville — ever ready with his answer. I w'ould >e were honest 
as he is witty !” 

Whatever importance Sir Phelim or Owen might attach to y 
Sir John’s desertion, the matter weighed but little in the mind 
of Rinuccini compared with the treacherous arrest of Glamor- 
gan, which justified all his previous suspicions of Ormond. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


?»77 


Even the most devoted adherents of the Lord Lieutenant dared 
not in the face of such a fact defend him before the Council, and 
for the time, Rinuccini hafl it all his own way. For himself he 
manifested no surprisOj declaring such an act in perfect accord- 
ance with the view he had taken of the Viceroy’s character and 
his real sentiments towards Catholics. 

Ilis private devotions were interrupted that evening by a late 
visit from some four or five of the Confederates, and the Nuncia 
wondered very much what urgent afiliir had brought them at 
such an hour. Bishop French was happily one of the party, and 
through him the others explained the nature of their visit. 

“ In case they made up their minds to attack Dublin without 
delay, what support could the Nuncio give them I” 

Rinuccini’s heart swelled with joy at the bare suggestion of a 
step so bold and so decisive. Still he was not in a position to 
answer them. 

“ I would I might tell you on the instant, my lords and gen- 
tlemen,” he said with an air of satisfaction, ” but I know not 
myself what amount of money will remain at my disposal till I 
have learned how much will be expended on those frigates, 
which, as you know, I have sent to Flanders to purchase. Wo 
have much need of them now, seeing that your privateers have 
all departed from your coasts since the first commencement of 
the truce.” 

This uncertainty was not what the Council had expected, and 
the Nuncio’s answer, reported to them, threw a damp on the 
fitful flash of their ardor evoked by Glamorgan’s arrest. O’Neill, 
on the contrary, was roused to more active exertion, and, 
encouraged by the Nuncio’s undisguised approval, and his pro- 
mise of speedy succor, he prepared to set out for the north in 
company with Sir Fhelim O’Neill, IMcMahon of Uriel, and 
O’Reilly of Breffny. 

It was a gratifying sight to the Nuncio when, the northern 
chieftains going to crave his blessing prior to their departure, 
Owen Roe and his fiery kinsman l^nelt side by side with bowed 
heads and clasped hands. Strong, firm man as Rinuccini was, 
his voice trembled with emotion as he blessed each noble head, 
and when they arose he said with a moistened eye : 


378 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Sons of the Gael, my hope is in you. As God liveth, 
you must fight the battle for Him and yourselves. What aid I 
have to give shall be yours, and your fair Ulster shall be firsi 
cleared of the tyrant foe !” 

He then took the hands of Sir Phelim and Owen O'Neill, and 
joining them said : “ Be you as brothers henceforth — in union 
ye conquer. In wars of this nature, self must be forgotten, and 
only the common good and the holy cause kept in view.” 

At this moment Sir John Netterville was announced, and the 
Nuncio, fearing the result of such a meeting after what he had 
witnessed in the Council Hall, requested the chieftains to withdraw 
into another apartment till the new visitor had retired. On the 
threshold they met Netterville. He would have passed them in 
contemptuous silence, but Sir Phelim could not refrain from 
giving him a piece of his mind. 

“ An’ your face were not made of brass,” said he, “ you would 
not dare show it here. After all, you’re more to be pitied than 
anything else. Pass on !” 

The fierce retort on Netterville’s lip was changed for a gesture 
of defiance, for through the open door the young man caught 
the stern glance of Rinuccini fixed full upon him, and with a 
strange feeling of embarrassment he entered the room whilst 
Owen Roe turned and looked after him a moment with a heavy 
sigh. 

“ Poor fellow !” he said within himself, “ I had better hopes of 
him through all my dark forebodings !” 



THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


379 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“ Give praise to the Virgin Mother ! O’Neill is at Benburb, 

The chieftain of the martial soul, who scorns the Saxon curb ; 
Between the hills his camp is pitch’d, and in its front upthrown, 

The Red Hand points t ) victory from the standard of Tyrone ; 
Behind him rise the ancient woods, while on his flank anear him, 

The deep Blackwater calmly glides and seems to greet and cheer him. 

“ By all the Saints they’re welcome ! across the crested wave. 

For few who left Kinnad this morn ere night shall lack a grave. 

The hour — the man, await them now, and retribution dire 
Shall sweep their ranks from front to rear, by our avenging Are ; 
Yet on they march in pride of heart — the hell-engender’d gloom 
Of the grim, predestined Puritan impels them to their doom.” 

Hayes’ Irish Ballads. 

Passing over the spring months of that memorable year of 
1646, fruitful as they were in stirring events, we will convey the 
reader once again to those scenes of old renown where the an- 
cient keep of Benburb overhangs “ the Avon Dhu of the north” 
— Avon Dhu of the O’Neills. 

It is a radiant night in early June and 

“ Beneath a bright and bonny moon,” 

shining high in mid heaven, two great armies are again en- 
camped. Again Monroe is there with his whole force; no less 
than ten regiments of foot and fifteen troops of horse lie along 
the Blackwater under his command this summer night. And 
the Irish army, beyond the river, looked wondrous small com- 
pared with that Scottish host ; so well it might for it numbered 
scarce five thousand foot, with eight companies of horse.* But 
that little army was a host in itself, a mighty host, for not Cas- 
tlehaven with his Norman auxiliaries from the Pale was there, 
but Owen Roe O’Neill with the clans of Ulster, the impetuous 


* Rinuccini’fl Memoirs. 


380 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


sons of the soil, burning to wreak revenge on the Scots, who 
for six long years had been working their wicked will on man, 
woman and child, till they had made the fair land a desert. 
Few were the Catholics as compared with their foes, but for 
every man that was wanting the ghosts of slaughtered friends 
and kindred were there in scores ; their shadowy presence per- 
vaded all the ranks, for each man there had his share of the dis- 
mal memories of those bloody years, and every arm was nerved 
with superhuman strength, now that the cherished hopes of 
years were approaching their consummation. Owen Roe, with 
the sanction and advice of the Nuncio, was, at last, confronting 
the Scots, determined to drive them from Ulster if there was 
strength in him or his. The clans of Ulster were well represented 
on that battle-eve, for though few or none were there entire, 
hardly one was wanting. O’Neills and Maguires, McMahons 
and O’Hanlons, O’Reillys and O’Rourkes from the two Breflfnys, 
O’Boyles and McSweenys, and O’Muldoons from the north, and 
O’Donnells and O’Cahans from the farthest north of all where 
the Foyle and the Roe wind their silvery way through the 
mountain-glens . of Donegal and Derry. O’Doghertys were not 
wanting from wild Innishowen, from the banks of “ the bounti- 
ful CuldafF” — ay ! they were there, a stalwart band, those song- 
famed “ tall peasants of fair Innishowen,” well prepared to read 
the riddlet of Ireland’s fate at the bidding of Owen Roe. 

And how were the clansmen employed during those moonlit 
hours within s’ght of the enemy whom they had hurried from 
the border country to meet 1 Who were the men in black cas- 
socks — few they were in number, not more than three or four — 
who glided hither and thither amongst them, or, seated on ar- 
tillery-wagons on either slope of the two hills between which 
the army lay, raised their right hand over the head of every 

t “ When they tell ug the tale of a spell-stricken band. 

All entranced, with their bridles and broadswords in hand, 

Who await but the word to give Erin her own, 

They can read you that riddle in proud Innishowen. 

Hurrah for the spearmen of proud Innishowen ! — 

Long live the wild seers of stout Innishowen ! — 

May Mary our Mother be deaf to their moan 
Who love not the promise of proud Innishowen ” 

C. G. Duffy, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


381 


soldier there as he knelt in turn before them Reader, tho men 
were confessing their sins, in preparation for a still more solemn 
rite, and of the priests who heard them one was Father Eugene, an 
eminent Franciscan, who had been appointed by the Nuncio 
Chaplain to the Ulster forces, and another, our old friend. Father 
Phelimy O’Cahan. On the skirt of a wood in the rear of the army 
sat Heber of Clogher, on the stump of a fallen tree, engaged in the 
same pious work, albeit that the stole which marked his priestly 
ofSce was in stern and strange contrast with the stuffed jerkin 
which encased his brawny shoulders and the steel morion which 
lay beside him on the grasS. Yes, the patriotic prelate had 
clearly girded on the sword, ambitious, it might be, of sharing 
Archbishop Malachy’s glorious fate. Near and around where 
the bishop sat the men of Uriel were encamped, McMahons and 
McKennas, and the stout borderers of Farney, and whilst some 
were on their knees preparing for confession, others were en- 
gaged in the construction of an altar under the skilful direction 
of Malachy na soggarth. If ever man was in his element it was 
Malachy that night, and the usual gravity of his demeanor was 
deepened into a solemn dignity befitting his high office, for 
Malachy esteemed himself on that occasion second to no other in 
importance. His claims were tacitly acknowledged by ihe bold 
clansmen around, who came and went, and fetched and carried 
at Malachy’s high behest, all well pleased to have a hand in so 
great a work — under the direction of “ Bishop McMahon’s right 
hand man.” 

Yes ! Malachy was in his glory, and by a curious coincidence, 
Shamus Beg O’Hagan was again his companion, as on that other 
night five years gone by when the long unused chapel of Kin- 
nard Castle was the scene of his pious labors. But Shamus was 
no idle spectator at this time listening to old-world stories, for 
with Donogh the Rapparee, and one or two others, he was busily 
engaged forming a canopy of flags to protect the altar from 
wind and weather. The manner in which this^ask was per- 
formed had given Malachy entire satisfaction, till, stepping back 
a few paces to ascertain the general effect, he cried out all 
agha'.t: 


382 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ Good Lord ! Shamus, isn’t that the Red Hand you have on 
tlie top above !” 

“ An’ to be sure it is, Malachy !— what else would it bew?” 

i‘ Why, my soul to God, Shamus ! but you’re a bit of a gho- 
meril after all — isn’t it our flag that ought to be there, not 
yours ? ’ 

“ Ha! ha! Malachy! wise as you are, I have you this time” 
— and Shamus indulged in a low chuckling laugh. “ Sure you 
needn’t object to have the Red Hand uppermost when your 
chief will fight under it to-morrow 

Malachy gave in with a heavy sig^, muttering, “ I suppose it’s 
to be or it wouldn't be.” . 

“ Don’t sigh so heavily, old friend,” said the deep voice of 
Donogh, or rather Phelim McGee. “ They’re not on Irish 
ground this night that need he ashamed to follow the beck of 
the Red Hand. Owen Roe is the man for us !” 

“ Who says he isn’t V' questioned Malachy in a snappish tone 
all unusual with him. “ My lord !” said he, approaching the 
bishop who had just dismissed from his knee a gigantic follower 
of Rory Maguire, “ my lord ! if you don’t take a few hours’ 
rest you’ll not be able to lift your head in the morning !” 

“ No need to lift it surely when I don’t lay it down,” said the 
good-humored prelate, “ and besides, Malachy, it matters little 
when to-morrow’s sunset may find that same head stiff and cold 
— let me alone, I pray you! for much remains to be done, and 
the time is short. Kneel !” ho said to a stout gallowglass who had 
been waiting patiently for his turn — “ bestir yourself, Malachy ! 
— and see that the vestments be all in order — Mass will com- 
mence ere long.” Away started Malachy to one of ^he bag- 
gage Avagons in quest of his vestments and altar linen, whilst 
Shamus Beg stood looking at the altar and the banners all 
clearly revealed in the moonlight, and somehow a feeling of sad- 
ness stole over him. It was not fear — for Shamus never feared 
“ man or devil,” as he often boasted, but rather a heavy weight 
as of sorrow. Angry with himself for being so “ down-hearted” 
he muttered between his teeth : “ Ah, then, Shamus bo)’’, what’s 
coming over you at all 'I — sure it wouldn’t be fear that’s on you. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


883 


after all the bloody battles you’ve had a hand in ! Come, come, 
rouse yourself now, and be a man !” 

Turning quickly to regain Sir Phelim’s tent whence he had 
issued some half an hour before, he met the deep earnest eyes 
of Angus Dhu fixed full upon him. The young Rapparee was 
leaning on the handle of his pike immovable as a statue. His 
face w’as paler than usual and his garments covered with dust, 
for Angus had ridden hard and fast since the night fell to be 
present at the expected battle. He had but just arrived and 
exchanged a brotherly greeting with his captain who expressed 
his joy that he came in time with the little party under his 
command. Shamus and Angus were ever glad to meet, and it 
- was some time since they had met before. 

“Well! if that isn’t queer,” said the foster-brother with a 
start; “ you’re tJ)e very one I was thinking of, Angus ! When 
did you get in, or how are you at all T’ 

“ I got in about ten minutes ago, and I’m well enough only a 
little tired, but I mean to take an hour’s sleep or two, if the 
enemy lets us alone that long, and then, please God, I’ll be able 
for any Scotch devil amongst them I But how is yourself, 
Shamus 7 I don’t know whether it’s on my eyes it is, but I 
think you’re not in the best of health.” And' the young man’s 
voice trembled slightly. 

“Health! Angus!” cried Shamus, cutting one of the frolic- 
some capers of Aiild Tang syne. “ Is it me not in good health ! 
— never was better in all ray born days — an’ sure if I wasn’t 
even, the very thoughts of to-morrow wmuld make me a new 
man. But listen, Angus, to what I’m going to tell you, for we 
don’t know the minute the alarm may come, and I wouldn’t 
miss the chance of saying what I have to say — no, not for broad 
Tyr-Owen. In the first place, then, I’m overjoyed to see you, 
Ansus.” 

“ No need to tell me that, anyhow,” the Rapparee replied 
with sly emphasis. 

“ Well, well, what I mean is that I’m doubly glad to see you 
now for a reason I have.” 

“ And what is it 7” 

“ If anything happens me to-morrow, I want you to take this 


884 - 


TIIE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


bro-ken ring to a gersha down in the County Antrim. She has 
ihe other half, and you will give her this, and tell her it’s the 
only ring s'he’ll ever get from Shamus O’Hagan. Tell her it isn’t 
his fault, but he did what he promised to do when the war was 
over and our rights gained. If I live, please God, I’ll get back 
the ring from you, Angus, and take it down there myself, but if 
I don’t — you’ll be sure to do it.” 

“ But supposing I fall myself—” suggested Angus, smiling 
through tears. “ How then T’ 

“ Pooh, pooh, you’ll not fall — there’s no danger in life ! Keep 
the ring, and do as 1 bid you !” 

Augus laughed, yet there was little mirth in his laugh. He. 
suddenly took hold of his friend’s hand and clasped it with con- 
vulsive energy. 

“ Shamus !” said he, “ you don’t know all the love that’s in my 
heart for you. You don’t, Shamus, but maybe you will soon. 
Anyhow, I’ll do your bidding — Aileen Magee shall have the 
ring — that’s if anything happens you.^' 

“Aileen Magee!” repeated Shamus in amazement, “why, 
sure I never mentioned her name — or did I — for, indeed, there’s 
such a load on my heart that it makes me dull and heavy like 
— Did I tell you the girleen’s name 1” 

“ Well, no 1” — ^and Angus smiled faintly — “ but if you didn’t, 
maybe some one else did. Move a little this way, for there’s 
the General going to confession ” 

“ The general I which general? — oh! I see, it’s Owen Roe you 
mean ! I thought it might be Sir Phelim, but sure, no matter, 
it’s all in the family. Well, the Lord be with you, Angus — but 
stay, stay” — and approaching him, he lowered his voice to a 
whisper — “ I forgot to tell you where you’d light on Aileen.” 

“ Oh, never mind !” replied Angus, with a careless toss of his 
head ; “ when I want to find her. I’ll know where to go. She’ll 
be little worth, anyhow, by the time your message reaches 
her.” 

“ What’s that you say ?” 

“ I say it’s not far from daylight now — ahem 1 so I’ll off and 
help Phelim — oh, bother ! Donogh I mean — to get the boys in 
readiness. Hillo I there’s his whistle, I must be off.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


385 


“ But Angus — stay one minute ! — where — when will I see you 
again 

“ God knows,” said Angus with emotion, “ God knows, Shamus 
aroon ! — why, the captain is in a hurry !” Putting his hand to 
his mouth he returned the signal call, then wrung Sliamus by 
both hands, and darted off into the wood, where, for the pre- 
sent, the Rapparees were placed. An hour later and they were 
sent by the general to aid in the defence of the bridge already 
held by a detachment from Sir Con Magennis’s regiment. 

The day was just dawning when Sir Phelim O’Neill stood at 
the door of his kinsman’s tent and peered cautiously in expecting 
to find Owen asleep. Not so, however, for the latter was on his 
knees in full equipment, whilst his two aide-de-camps, also 
drest, lay sleeping soundly with their heads resting on the side 
of the heathery couch that had been prepared for the general. 

“ Humph !” said Phelim as Owen rose and came forward, “ at 
your devotions so early 'I — what with the squalling of psalms 
yonder, and the praying and so forth here, so pious a battle w^as 
never foughi as this is like to be. But that is not what I came 
to say. They tell me you sent off Colonel Bernard McMahon 
and Colonel Patrick McAneny over night with their whole regi- 
ments — up Monaghan side. Is it true, Owen, or is it not V' 

“ It is true 1 — but what then V' 

“ Why, I’d like to know what put that in your head, and we 
scarce half the number of the enemy at our best I Come, now% 
Fabius of your country !* answer me that !” Ho spoke in a 
tone half jeering, half friendly, and Owen was not the man to 
resent a joke, however surly, from a brother-general at such a 
moment. 

“ I will answer you, Phelim, and truly,” said Owen with per- 
fect good humor ; “ nay, more, to your satisfaction. I have 
learned that Monroe had sent to his brother Robert to join him 
without delay with all the forces at his command, and as the 
latter would come on us from the rear we should find ourselves 
between two fires, either of which is enough for our numbers 

* Owen Roe was from an early period of the war distinguished by 
this proud and honorable title. 

17 / 


380 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


to cope ■with. How think you, cousin ! was I not right in 
sparing those two regiments, if happily they can keep Colonel 
Bobert back until we have settled with Covenanting George T’-f 

“ Forgive me, Eoghain !” said honest Phelim with some emo- 
tion ; “I know you are a wiser man than I. and have a longer 
head by a great deal. You are the shield^ I know well, but let 
blustering Phelim be the sword and you shall have the planning 
of all. Tell me, do you mean to attack, or wait Monroe’s onset 
— which % See the sun is already peeping on us from behind 
the hill!” 

“ Hark ! is not that the low tinkle of a bell V’ said Owen with 
a start. 

“ Bell, indeed I” answered Phelim with a laugh ; “ sure it’s 
dreaming you are, Owen Roe ! I hear a sound like the measured 
clash of steel, but no bell.” 

“ Anyhow, it is the signal for Mass, I know that !” said Owen, 
and he muttered to himself as he proceeded to rouse his drowsy 
aide-de-camps ! 

“When, oh! when ‘shall I hear thee no more, bell of old 
Eglish ! Art thou a knell for me or mine this day 'I Not so, for 
I feel within me the assurance of victory !” 

The sun had but just raised his broad disk above the horizon 
when Bishop McMahon in his loud clear tones was reciting the 
Jntroibo ad dltare Dei at the foot of the military altar, with 
Father Hartegan, one of the chaplains of the army, serving Mass, 
and Malachy, of course, in official attendance. On one side 
knelt Father Phelimy O’Cahan, his aged face beaming with the 
light of hope, on the other the tall dignified form of the Fran- 
ciscan, Father Eugene, the Nuncio’s special representative. In 
a semicircle fronting the altar were Owen Roe and Sir Phelim 
O'Neill, Sir Con Magennis, Owen O’Rourke, Philip O’Reilly and 
Art McMahon, the principal chiefs of the army ; the colonels 
and other officers remained with their regiments for fear of sur- 
prise. A few yards back knelt Roderick Maguire at the head 

t General Monroe had a little before this taken the “ Solemn 
League and Covenant” on bended knee in the high kirk of Car- 
rickfergus. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 387 

of his column, and by bis side was Lorcan, looking twenty years 
younger than when we last saw him, and grasping with the 
vigor of lusty manhood the long spear which for old times’ sake 
he still used in war. Like a sturdy oak of his own woods was 
Lorcan, hale, strong and vigorous even in decay. And how 
lovingly the' old man clutched his spear as he tliought of his 
murdered Connor and wished he had lived to see that day ! 

And as he wished, he raised his eyes towards the altar, and 
lo ! what sight was there that enchained his wandering glance 'I 
Two female figures wrapt in sable drapery knelt close behind 
Father Phelimy, their faces concealed by deep riding-hoods. 

“ Lord save us [’’ ejaculated Lorcan, “ are the spirits come in 
broad daylight ? I suppose, now, nobody sees them but myself, 
for sure the sight of them would make more of a scatterment 
than Monroe’s cavalry. Well! who knows but they come for 
me at last — indeed one ol them puts me in mind of my poor dead 
sister, Eveleen O’Cahan — and they’re welcome as the fiovvers in 
May, if that be their errand — let me only have a few hours’ good 
hard fighting with those Scotch devils below and see them fairly 
taken to their legs, and TU go with all my heart wherever God 
pleases.” 

Lorgan’s surmise appeared correct, for no one but himself ' 
appeared to notice the shadowy forms. For himself, he could 
hardly take his eyes off them though he struggled hard to avoid 
so grievous a distraction, especially as he was preparing to re- 
ceive the holiest of sacraments. But the sight of the dark mo- 
tionless figures, fresh from the world of spirits^ was more than 
Lorcan’s piety could resist, and do as he would his eyes were 
ever turning stealthily in their direction, whilst his lips and his 
heart prayed with fervor and his fingers told the beads of his 
Rosary. 

It was a solemn sight, take it altogether, when the soldier- 
bishop offered up the Atoning Sacrifice of the New Law in 
sight of that valiant army on the banks of the Blackwater — 
when every head was bowed in adoration, and every heart 
raised to heaven. It was a goodly sight, too, to see the rough 
warriors of the mountains, the kerns and gallowglasses of many 
a clan, kneeling in whole battalions in the light of the morning 


/ 


388 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

sun, -with the rich rays playing on their shining arms and accou- 
trements, and the fresh breeze sporting with the plumes which 
shaded noble brows and rustling in the banners above the 
simple altar, whilst the Sacred Host was elevated between earth 
and heaven by the bishop’s consecrated hands. No less solemn 
or imposing was the sight when, at the Communion, the General 
and all his oflScers advanced in regular order and received the 
Bread of Life, the musicians sttiking up at the moment a soft 
and plaintive air. Many a glorious scene had old Avon Dhu 
witnessed on its banks, but never one more glorious than that. 
Oh ! the ineffable grandeur which encircled the brow of Owen 
Hoe as he stepped forward first of all, making a sign to Sir 
Phelim to take his place by his side. It was not that the 
chieftain looked exalted in his own estimation, for his demeanor 
was that of an humble and sincere Christian, calm and collected 
— no, but the effect of his example was such, and so striking, 
that there was not a man on the hill of Benburb that hour who 
did not bow down in spirit before so great and good a man. 

After the Ite Missa Est Father Eugene, putting on his stole, 
ascended the steps of the altar (they were formed of mountain 
heather closely packed together beneath many folds of tent- 
canvas) and gave the solemn Papal benediction. That done, 
there was a mighty rushing sound and a deafening clang of 
arms ; it was the men rising from their knees and each grasping 
his weapon. Then arose on the morning air a wild enthusiastic 
cheer from those thousands and thousands of brave hearts ; it 
was for his Holiness Innocent X., the friend and protector of 
the oppressed Catholics of Ireland. That cheer echoed far and 
wide over the country, and pealed on the ears of Monroe’s grim 
Puritans as a challenge to mortal combat. They had witnessed 
from afar the morning devotions of the Irish, and the sight of 
the altar filled them with fury ; the cheers of the Catholics were 
answered by them with howls of execration, and cries of 
“ Death to the worshippers of idols !— wo to the followers of 
Baal ! The sword of the Lord and Gideon !” 

Monroe had effected a junction on the previous day with 
Hamilton’s forces, and the presence of that savage leader was 
speedily detected by the Clan O’Rourke, who testified their joy 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


389 


by shouts of fierce exultation. Oar old acquaintance, Manus, 
had risen to the rank of captain, and his company was com- 
posed of his own kinsmen, every man of them sworn to deadli- 
est revenge on the murderer of their youthful Tanist. The 
blood-stained flag of the Hamiltons weaving on the right flank 
of the Scottish army was early in the day pointed out by Manui^ 
to his men, and even the calm chieftain himself, noble and 
chivalrous as he was, could not help expressing his satisfaction 
that the day so long wished for was come at last. 

Never did two armies face each other with more stern deter- 
mination or greater ardor for the fight than on that day at 
Benburb. On the part of the Scotch there was > the fanatical 
desire to clear the land of the old idolatrous natives, the “ Am- 
monites” and “ Moabites,” of their Scriptural cant. Fancying 
themselves, like the Hebrews of old, commissioned to destroy 
and exterminate a race so odious to their God, they stood glaring 
on the Irish enemy across the watery barrier which, as yet, they 
might not pass. They had tried the bridge early in the morning, 
but were repulsed by its gallant defenders in a style that fully 
justified Owen’s choice. The serried pikes of the Rapparees 
were found as a wall of iron which no Scottish steel might^pen- 
etrate.^ Again and again the attempt was made, and again and 
again did the exulting shout of the Rapparees mark the enemy’s 
discomfiture. Loudly laughed the woodsmen, and fondly they 
patted their trusty pikes, vowing that they should make a 
closer acquaintance with “ the murdering Scotch” before noon- 
day. It was long since they felt their hearts so light— 

“ The fearless Rapparees ! 

Oh ! the jewel were you, Rory, with your Irish Rapparees !” 

But the covenanters were too fiercely athirst for Papist blood 
to be so easily baulked, and Monroe, urged by Hamilton and 
others of his officers, resolved to march along the river edge to 
Kinard and there effect a passage. 

Leaving them to accomplish this design, marvelling much at 
what they considered the neglect of O’Neill in leaving the ford 
at Kinard undefended, we will return again to the Irish army 
and to Lorcan Maguire at the close of the apostolic benediction. 


S90 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


He had bowed his head reverently to receive the blessing, and 
his first glance on raising it again was towards the supposed 
spirits. They had vanished, and Lorcan crossed himself devout- 
ly, muttering between his teeth : 

“ Heaven’s rest to you, Eveleen Maguire ! — but I wonder who 
the other is — maybe my own fair Una!” — meaning the wife of 
his youth lost in the first year of their marriage — “ pity Connor 
wasn’t with them — but I suppose he wasn’t allowed. No matter, 
no matter, IHl see them dll soon, and, through God’s mercy, for 
ever more 1” 

The old man little dreamed that the supposed spirits had 
merely emerged from the wood to hear Mass, or that Owen Roe 
and Father Phelimy had been trying in vain to exorcise them 
hours before the first cock-crow. The most stubborn of ghostly 
creatures, they refused to quit the place come what might. 
Surrounded by a small party of the Rapparees commanded by 
Angus Hhu, they busied themselves in making what prepara- 
tions their poverty permitted for the relief of those who should 
be wounded in the battle, whilst a cross formed of two branches 
was nailed to the trunk of a tree, as though to sanctify the place. 
Who that saw Emmeline Coote when she reigned supreme over 
Dublin drawing-rooms, and bestowed prizes with smiling grace 
on those who shed the most of Papist blood, could have recog- 
nized her in the sad companion of Judith O’Cahan that day, 
raising her soul-lit eyes ever and anon to the rude emblem of 
salvation the while she prayed for success to the Catholic arms 'I 
Yet Emmeline herself it was, and not even Judith was more 
wildly anxious for the overthrow of the Puritans than that 
daughter of the bloody Cootes. 

Apprised by the faithful Rapparees of the expected collision 
of the hostile armies, the two ladies with their aged protector 
had journeyed with all haste to the neighborhood of Charlemont, 
as the probable scene of the coming conflict. Father Phelimy 
having once joined the army, determined to remain for the 
spiritual succor of the soldiers, but he shrank, and so did Owen 
Roe, at the thought of the dangers to which Judith and Emme- 
line voluntarily exposed themselves. 

But Judith would not hear of danger. “Your turn is come 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


391 


now,” said she to Owen, as at midnight the four stood together 
looking out through an opening of the wood upon the motion- 
less columns of the army, as they knelt in preparation for con- 
fession ; “ God is with you — the shadow of His presence is over 
your army — fear not, oh ! first of the sons of Ireland ! the Al- 
binach is delivered to the swords of our avengers, so sure as 
yonder moon walks the heavens in light !” 

“ First of the sons of Ireland !” repeated Owen to himself with 
a thrill of joy ; aloud he said : “ An’ we conquer, the lady J udith 
hath no small share in our success ; much hath she done of late 
in nourishing the flame of patriotic ardor.” 

“ I pray you name it not,” said Judith hastily, as she turned 
away ; “ I did nothing — the Scottish murderers did all — all ! 
Come, Emmeline, let us retire ! — God keep you, general ! Bless 
us, father, before you go to enter on your sacred office !” 

Not to rest but to prayer did the ladies retire, and Malachy’s 
signal found them still kneeling before their cross. 




392 


THE CONFEDERATE -CHIEFTAINS. 


CHAPTER XXXr. 

“ Our rude array’s a jagged rock to smash tho spoiler’s power, 

Or need we aid, His aid we have who doom’d this gracious hour 
Of yore He led His Hebrew host to peace through strife and pain. 

And us He leads the self-same path, the self-same goal to gain.” 

C. G. Duffy. 

” Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger’s pang. 

Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang, 

Bright was their steel, ’tis bloody now, their guns are fill’d with 
gore ; 

Thro’ shatter’d ranks, and sever’d files, and trampled flags they^ 
tore ; 

The Eoglish strove with desperate strength,* paused, rallied, stag- 
ger d, fled — 

The green-hill side is matted close with dying and with dead ; 

Across the plain and far away pass’d on that hideous wrack, 
tVhile cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track. 

On Eontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun. 

With bloody plumes the Irish stand— tho field is fought and won.” 

Thomas Davis. 

It was high noon that day when Owen Roe O’Neill appeared 
again before the anxious watchers in the wood. He was paler 
than his wont, and when he spoke his voice trembled slightly, 
but his manner was even more collected than usual. 

“Judith!” said he, “the final moment is well nigh come. 
They have crossed at Kinnard, and driven back Colonel O’Far- 
rel from the defile where I had placed him. They are rapidly 
approaching.” 

“ You mean to wait for them, then I” 

“ Assuredly I do — my position here is well worth keeping — 
but— but — I came to say farewell — should we meet no more — 
God in heaven protect you and this noble damsel who hath left 
her own to cling unto us — once more, let me persuade you to 
remove from a place so fraught with danger — do, for God’s 
sake, ere yet the enemy is upon us.” 

“I have told you I will not go,” said Judith loftily, “and 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


393 


Emmeline is resolved as I am. "Wliitlier, in God’s name, should 
we go — our hopes are here, and here our safety lies, for if, which 
God forfend ! Monroe is the victor to-day, no spot on Ulster 
ground will be safe for us henceforth. .A way, then, Owen 1 
away to your post, and may the just Lord God watch over your 
precious life, for a day of carnage, yea, a bloody day is before 
you, — howsoever the battle goes, the slaughter will be fearful — 
where revenge strikes on one side, and fanatic hatred on the 
other, mercy will have no place.” 

“It is true, Judith, too true,” said the chieftain sadly, then 
turning to Angus who stood near leaning against a tree, he said 
earnestly, “ Angus, my brave lad, I know you well. I know 
you will guard these ladies as you would the apple of your eye. 
Hence it is that I leave them with you. But mark me ! — if the 
battle goes against us, take them to Charlemont without delay 
— wait not till all is over, for then it will be too late, but go 
before your retreat is cut off. Mark my words, I say again ! as 
you shall answer it to me at the last great day !” 

“Never fear. General! never fear!” said Angus with emotion, 
“ but before you go, I would ask you one question. Where 
have you placed Sir Phelim 1” 

“ Yonder on the right wing — why do you ask, Angus 7” 

“ Oh, nothing in life, general, only that I’d wish to know.” 
Once more O’Neill turned to the fair companions. Emmeline 
was pale as death, and trembled in every limb as she gave him 
her hand at parting, but on Judith’s noble brow there was no 
trace of fear.; no dark misgiving smote her heart. Her usually 
pale cheek was tinged with a roseate hue, and her dark blue 
eyes gleamed through their long lashes like the sapphires in a 
royal crown. O’Neill looked at her and his heart-pulse quick- 
ened. Like the genius of the land she stood in that hour, beau- 
tiful and stately, bearing on her features the imprint of sorrow 
and suffering, yet radiant with the light of hope and thejnner 
life which passes show. 

“ Go forth to conquer !” said the lady as she placed her hand 
on the chieftain’s arm ; “ son of Niall, the daughter of Cooey-na- 
gall stakes her life on your success. Go forth — and the God of 
battles be your aid, and Mary the Help of Christians!” 


394 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Strong in the righteous cause for which he fought, strong in 
the encouragement of her whom he regarded as in some sort 
inspired, and strong above all in the might of Him whose cor- 
poral presence was w'ithin him, Owen Roe did go forth, and 
mounting his war-steed, reached the centre division of his 
army just as the Scottish columns planted their standards in 
the plain beneath. O’Farrel’s regiment, somewhat the worse 
for its encounter with the Scottish vanguard,* was placed in 
the rear with the reserved corps, and then the general, with his 
staff, rode along the line amid the enthusiastic cheers of the 
soldiers, while 

The generate' s beating on many a drum, 

\ 

and the pipes strike up the various clan tunes. These after a 
few bars are all merged in the noble and warlike strain, known 
then as Planxty Sudley,j' the grandest, the most inspiriting that 
ever broke on w’arrior’s ear. And the hearts of the bold clans- 
men throbbed high with joy and hope as they listened, and 
their feet beat time to the gladsome strain, and the very horses 
pranced and danced as though they, too, were eager for the 
fray. Oh ! sight of joy ^r Erin, who would not wish to see it ! 

“ When hearts are all high beating, 

And the trumpet’s voice repeating 
That song, whose breath 
May lead to death, 

But never to retreating. 

Oh ! the sight entrancing, 

* “As they (the Scots) advanced they were met by Colonel Rich- 
ard O’Farrel, who occupied a narrow defile through which it was 
necessary for the Scotch troops to pass in order to face the Irish. 
The fire of Monroe’s guns compelled O’Neill’s officer to retire.” — 
Confederation, p. 149. 

t This noble war-tone is happily preserved to us by the artistic 
zeal of Sir John Stephenson. Through the delightful medium of 
Moore’s verse, it is known, I hope, to many of my readers as “ Oh ! 
the sight entrancing !” I pity the Irish heart that is not stirred to 
its depth by that glorious strain, so full of the martial fire which ran 
in the veins of our Celtic fathers. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


395 


When morning’s beam is glancing 
O’er files array’d 
With helm and blade, 

And plumes in the gay wind dancing. 

“ Yet, ’tis not helm'or feather — 

For ask yon despot, whether ' 

• His plumed bands 

Could bring such hands 
And hearts as purs together. 

Leave pomps to those who need ’em^ 

Give man but heart and freedom, 

And proud he braves 
The gaudiest slaves 
That crawl where monarchs lead ’em. 

The sword may pierce the beaver, 

Stone walls in time may sever, 

’Tis mind alone. 

Worth steel and stone, 

That keeps men free for ever.”t 

Those words of fire were as yet unbreathed, but their spirit 
throbs in every vein of those safiron-coated warriors who stand 
skilfully ranged in order of battle beneath the fiags of the 
Ulster chiefs — those fiags which at dawn canopied the sacred 
elements. 

■ As Owen O’Neill rode slowly along the line, he was joined by 
Bishop McMahon, who had been surveying the ground and the 
different arrangements with the eye of a veteran soldier. 
“ Owen !” said he, “ our position here is every way admirable, 
but how shall we manage the sun yonder, shining full in our 
eyes T* 

“ I have thought of that, my Lord,” said the general with an 
anxious glance at the too brilliant luminary ; “ would the enemy 
but keep quiet for a few hours all were well, but an’ they will 
attack us, we must e’en keep them in play till the sun begins to 
descend. How, now, Rory he was passing the Fermanagh 
men at the moment, and the young chief stepped forward, indi- 
cating by a sign that he wished to speak. 

“ I fear for my poor uncle,” said Rory ; “ he hath made up his 
mind that he is to die this day, but not till he hath worked out 


J Moore’s Irish Melodics, 


396 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


some conceit of his own, the which I take to be so perilous that 
it may well end as he forebodes. Could you not send him to 
keep guard in the wood yonder V* 

“ An’ he did, too,” said Lorcan at his elbow, “ I would not go. 
Others can keep guard in the wood as well as I, and I might 
thereby lose my chance of revenge. For shame, Rory ! plotting 
against your old uncle !” 

“But, uncle, you do not know ” ' 

“ Lorcan ! it were a post of honor, an’ you knew but all !” 

“ Small thanks to either of you,” said the old man snappishly ; 
“ I know enough to take care of my own honor — in the van I’ll 
be, I tell you that — it wasn’t to hide myself in the wood that I 
got the sight I did this morning !” 

“ Steady, men, steady !” cried Owen O’Neill, “ they are ad- 
vancing rapidly. Keep your ground — obey your officers — they 
know my plans.” 

“ The cavalry ! the cavalry !” — “ oh ! the hell-hounds ! a w'arm 
welcome to them !” 

On they went. Lord Ardes at their head, their terrible clay- 
mores flashing in the sun. Heaven help the Irish kern, with 
only their barradhs and glib-locks to protect their heads ! Yet 
firm as a rock they stand with their pikes and bayonets firmly 
clasped, prepared to resist the shock. Bat on and still on they 
come, Monroe’s bloody troopers — hurrah! mid-way on their 
course they are greeted by a scathing fire from the bushes on 
either side — they reel — they attempt to rally — Lord Ardes waves 
his sabre and urges them on — thick and fast comes the deadly 
volley from the brushwood — down go the Scots one after one» 
man and horse rolling over down the hill-side — a panic seized 
the troopers, and their officers losing all command of them, they 
hastily made their retreat to the sheltering columns of the army. 
Loud and long was the laugh that pealed after them, and Owen 
Roe riding once more to the front, cried out : 

“ Bravely done, my faithful Rapparees ! I knew it was in 
you I” 

“ Methinks Lord Ardes will scarcely try it again, Owen,” said 
Phelim coming forward at a gallop. •- “ Who may we thank for 

thatr* 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


307 


“ Captain Donogh and his brave comrades,” said Owen, “ they 
are the boys for the scrogs and bushes ! But back — back, 
Phelim ! as I live they’re opening a cannonade ! — Heavens ! what 
a peal ! Spare, oh. Lord! spare our brave fellows! Ha! Our 
Lady shields us well !” 

Again the shout of mirthful mockery burst from the Irish 
ranks as shot after shot boomed in quick succession from the 
enemy’s guns without so much as harming a single man * 

“ Oh ! the darling were you, Owen Roe !” “ The Lord be 

praised ! isn’t he the wonderful man 1” “ See that, now !” 

Amid these exulting shouts and cries of admiration, and the 
dull roar of the heavy cannonade, a cry of anguish w'as heard so 
loud and shrill and piercing that every eye was turned in the 
direction of the altar w'hence the sound appeared to proceed. 
Few could see what was going on there, but those that did found 
it hard to keep their places in the ranks in obedience to the 
stern voice of the general calling out at the moment : 

“ Stir not a man of you, on pain of death !” 

But the cry went round “ Poor Malachy na Soggarth !” and 
soon it reached the McMahons, and the Bishop himself was 
quickly on his knees beside the bleeding body of his humble 
friend, for Malachy indeed it was. The poor fellow, in making 
some new arrangement about the altar preparatory to ihe grand 
celebration of thanksgiving to which he looked forward, had in- 
cautiously ascended the steps, and, thus exposed, became a 
mark for some deadly shot, the Puritans, doubtless, taking him 
for a priest. Fitting death surely for Malachy na Soggarth ! 

Judith and Emmeline were already on the spot supporting the 
inanimate form between them and endeavoring to stanch the 
blood that flowed profusely from the breast. 

“ My poor, poor Malachy !” said the bishop in a choking 
voice as he leaned over him ; “ is there life in him, think youl” 
Laying his hand on the poor fellow’s heart, he shook his head 

* Rinuccini and other good authorities state that in this first can- 
nonade of the Scotch but one man of the Irish was slain, owing to 
the admirable disposition of the army by the skill and foresight of 
Owen Roe. 


398 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


mournfully — " Alas ! alas ! Malachy !” lie murmured while the 
tears streamed from his eyes, “ it will never beat again ! God 
rest your soul in peace ! Let us lay him here on the steps, my 
daughters ! till we see how the battle goes ! Yoitr lives are 
not safe here, and I must away where duty calls ” 

“ But can we do nothing for him, my lord I” said Judith anx- 
iously. 

“ Nothing, nothing 1 — my poor Malachy is beyond mortal 
succor !” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Judith ! let us go !” said the more timid 
Emmeline, shrinking with terror as a cannon-ball raked up the 
ground within a few feet and went bounding away towards the 
wood. 

“ She is right,” said the bishop ; “ haste away, I implore — I 
command you !” — and then tenderly he laid the body of his late 
sacristan on the lowest step of the altar, saying : “ Rest you 
there, Malachy ! till I return, if return I do or may.” 

By this time Angus and some others of the Rapparees were 
hurrying the ladies, back to the wood, and seeing Malachy ’s 
body they would have taken it too, but hearing that the bishop 
had placed it where it was, they reluctantly left it behind. 

“ Poor Malachy na Sog garth ! are you the first 7” sighed An- 
gus; “ God knows who will be the last — you’ll be well revenged, 
anyhow, before night !” 

Back to the post of danger flevV the bishop, and he found the 
Clan McMahon busily engaged in a skirmish with the enemy 
whilst Owen Roe himself and young Rory Maguire were charg- 
ing with well-feigned impetuosity ; indeed all along the line the 
Irish forces were more or less in action, now advancing, now re- 
tiring, yet still maintaining their ground, with all the disadvan- 
tage of a strong sun shining full in their faces, and the wind 
blowing the smoke of the Scottish guns right against them. 
Still they had the counter advantage of position, posted as they 
were between two hills with the wood on their rear, whereas 
the Puritans were hemmed in between the river and a wide- 
spreading bog. Little recked they, in their pride, that the saf- 
fron-coated kern held the hill-sides above them — were they not 
delivered unto themi yea, even the elements lent their aid 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


399 


against them, and the sun himself struck them, as it were, with 
blindness — verily, God’s judgments were upon those idolaters, 
aud their strength must wither like grass before the wrathful 
eyes of the elect. 

With this impression on their minds, the Puritan generals 
made charge after charge on the Irish columns, now with horse, 
now with foot, and again with both.* Somehow, “ the idolaters” 
were not quite so easily overcome, as they, in their fanatical 
faith, had believed. It is true they seemed to fight rather shy, 
as though fearing to come in too close contact with the swords 
of the righteous, but with the agility of mouiitain-goats and the 
cunning of foxes they managed to elude the furious onslaught 
of the Puritans. Truly was Owen Koe styled the Fabius of his 
country, for such generalship has rarely been displayed in any 
age — such consummate skill and prudence, as the field of Ben- 
burb witnessed that day. 

It was a strange and a curious sight to see the way in which 
Owen kept Monroe and his legions in play for full four hours on 
the bright Juno day, until the patience of his own people was 
all but worn out, and the Scotch, who had been fighting with 
all their might, well nigh exhausted and frenzied with disap- 
pointment. 

Monroe’s shrill voice was heard full often urging on his offi- 
cers, and O’Neill’s made, as it were, a mocking echo. It was 
“ Cunningham forward on the right” — “ McMahon to the front’ 1* 
— “ Hamilton advance !” — “ O’Rielly forward !” 

Much grumbling was heard amongst the O’Rourkes on find- 
ing that the O’Reillys, not they, -were in front of the Hamiltons, 
and Sir Phelim O’Neill could hardly restrain his indignation that 
he was left out of the count and reduced to a state of inactivity, 
which he deemed a grievous wrong. Owen Roe smiled as he 
heard these complaints, and told them all to have patience. 
“ Wait till you can see them,” said he, “ and then, men of Erin, 
you may, perchance, have your way !” 

It was fortunate that the army had such boundless confidence 
in the wisdom of its general, for there lived not the man on Irish 
ground, save Owen himself, that could have kept the clans back 
80 long, and to rush headlong on the Scotch with the dazzling 


400 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


sun and the drifting smoke striking full upon them, would have 
been certain destruction. 

Old Lorcan Maguire was on thorns. Although perfectly com- 
prehending the cause of Owen’s holding back, he still could not 
restrain his impatience, and many an angry glance he gave 
through his closed eyelids at the provokingly bright sun that 
would not let him see what,most he wished to see. 

“ Rory !” said he at last to his nephew, “ your eyes are young- 
er and stronger than mine — can you tell me whereabouts Blay- 
ney is — they say he’s with the cavalry.” 

“ Why, to be sure, uncle ! there he is with his troop on the 
left flank close by Hamilton’s dragoons. I' have my eye on him 
jipvpr fear!” 

That’s well, my boy, that’s well — God bless you, Rory !” 
A ball whizzed past the old man’s ear at the moment, but so 
wrapped was he in his own thoughts that he heeded it not, al- 
though it drew from his nephew an exclamation of alarm. A 
very short time after that a stir was perceptible amongst the 
Irish. The sun was, at length, behind them, and the wind sud- 
denly changing, the smoke of all the artillery was blown in the 
faces of the Scotch, stunning them with the effect of a hard 
blow. 

By some rapid evolutions, made at the moment, by the or- 
ders of Owen Roe, Hamilton of Leitrim found himself faced by 
his neighbors, the O’Rourkes, amongst whom were conspicuous 
’ the square-built, athletic flgure of Manus, and the stately form 
of his chief. Blayney was likewise confronted by his old ac- 
quaintances, the McMahons of Uriel, headed by their own chief, 
whilst Sir Robert Stewart and his bloody- troopers stood face to 
face with the stern O’Cahans of the mountains. All these 
changes were effected with the quickness almost of thought, and 
then Owen Roe, surveying with that piercing eye of his the con- 
fusion prevailing amongst the Scotch, cast another glance along 
his own line to see that all was to his liking. He smiled and 
murmured softly to himself : “Now may Christ and His Blessed 
Mother be our stay 1” • 

1 Ay I the moment is come at last — the Scotch are confused and 
bewildered — they cannot fight, it wmuld seem, as the Irish did, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 401 

through sun and smol^e — their generals see the danger — they 
see the ominous movements going on amongst the Confederates 
— they use every effort to restore order in their own ranks, and 
in part they succeed. With oaths and curses Hamilton forces 
his men into line — Monroe conjures — commands his stern Scot- 
tish veterans t o stand fast for the dear sake of the Covenant, and 
smite the reprobate with the strong arm of righteousness. 

But the Irish — how eagerlj’^ they watch their General’s eye — 
how bitterly they laugh as the blasphemous' exhortations of the 
Scottish generals reach their ears. 

“A hundred years of wrong shall make their vengeance strong 1 
A hundred years of outrage, and blasphemy, and broil ; 

Since the spirit of Unrest sent forth on her behest 

The Apostate and the Puritan, to do their work of spoil 

By a sudden impulse, as it were, Owen Roe threw himself 
into the midst of his army, and pointing to the enemy, he cried : 

“ Soldiers ! you have your way ! — They have sun and wind 
against them now as we had before. They waver already, 
though Monroe is trying; to rally for another charge. Strike 
liorae now for God and Country, — for martyred priests and 
slaughtered kin — for your women’s nameless wrongs — the Ham- 
iltons are there — remember Tiernan O'Rourke and the sacred 
martyr of Sligo — remember all — all, my -brothers — remember 
all the past — think of the future that awaits your country if you 
are beaten here to-day — but beaten you cannot be — you have 
purified your souls in the laver of penance, you have received 
the blessing sent you from the vicegerent of Christ — you are 
strong — your cause is holy — you must and shall conquer. On, 
then, on, to death or victory ! I myself will lead the way, and 
let him that fails to follow remember that he abandons his 
general !” 

“ Cursed be he who does !” cried Sir Phelim ; “ I’ll take care 
it shan’t be me !” 

He threw himself from Brien’s back as he spoke, and flung 
the bridle to Shamus, who was close by his side. Every colonel 
of the army instantly followed his example amid the applauding 

* Hon. G. S Sraytho’s Catholic Cavalier. 


402 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


cheers of the men, and then waving thdir broadswords on high, 
down they dashed on the astonished Puritans, their men bound- 
ing after and around them, with the terrible force of the cataract. 
Once more the cry of “ Lamh dearg aboo !” awoke the echoes 
of the woods, striking terror to the hearts of the murderous 
crew who had so long revelled in the blood of the Irish. In vain 
did Monroe, seeing the approaching avalanche, order Lord Ardes, 
with a squadron of horse, to clear a way through the Irish foot ; 
in vain — in vain — his cavalry met the rushing war-ade, and the 
pikes of the kern, piercing the breasts of the horses, drove 
them back, maddened and affrighted, on the ranks of their own 
infantry whose bayonets met them in the rear. Death ! death ! 
death and fury ! where is that haughty squadron now I Annihi- 
lated, save a few officers who were taken prisoners, Lord Ardes 
himself amongst the number. Now Hamilton and Blayney — 
Stewart and Montgomery look to it — look to the doom that is 
on you ! Strong, fierce and powerful this day are those whom 
so long you have hunted as beasts — the O’Rourkes are in your 
midst with their terrible pikes and battle-axes — the McGuires 
and McMahons are fiaying you down as though each had the 
strength of an hundred men — the O’Cahans are drunk with joy 
as Stewart’s men go down in heaps beneath their crushing blows, 
and the wild aboo is ringing high over all the sounds of fight, as 
the clansmen follow their valiant chiefs on and on through the 
dread array, shouting as they go the words of doom. Oh ! the 
might that was in Owen’s arm as, first of all, he clove his way to 
the heart of the Scottish host, his plume of green and white 
passing on like a meteor through the battle-cloud. And close 
behind him followed Sir Plielim, dealing death on every side 
and smiling grimly at the dull inertness of the Scotch, for it 
seemed as though a spell had fallen on them all and the strength 
had left their arms. Hero and there, however, the generals 
were making an effort to rally them, reminding them that retreat 
was death. Once the savage Hamilton encountered the knight 
of Kinnard, and leaning forward in his saddle aimed such a 
deadly thrust at his heart that stout Phelim's life were not worth 
a straw, had not a pike at the moment pierced Hamiltons’s horse 
through the head, and he fell to the ground with his rider under. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


403 


It was the faithful Shamus who had dealt the blow that saved 
his chieftain’s life, but he well nigh paid the penalty of his own, 
for some three or four of Hamilton’s men, believing their leader 
slain, attacked the brave fellow with their ponderous axes. 

“ Come on, you hell-hounds ! I’m ready for you !” cried Sha- 
mus with a flourish of his trusty pike, while Sir Phelim, turning 
at the sound of his voice, clove the foremost of his assailants 
well nigh to the belt. Alas ! the tide of battle rushing on, speed- 
ily carried away the knight, and left Shamus still wedged in 
with the wrathful followers of Hamilton. Forgotten as he 
thought himself by his friends, O’Hagan faced his enemies with 
the courage of a lion, and two of them fell beneath his stalwart 
arm, but the third, a gigantic fellow, maddened by the fate of 
his comrades, grasped his weapon with both hands and aimed 
such a blow at his opponent’s head as would have shattered a 
bar of iron. Great God ! what means that piercing scream ! 
Who is it that rushes between, receives the impending stroke, 
and saves the life of Shamus '? It is Angus Dhu whom Shamus 
catches in his arms with a cry of anguish, and forgetful of his 
own danger, of all save the friend who has given his life for him, 
he makes his way with maniac force through the thick of the 
fight, brandishing his bloody pike in one hand, while the other 
arm clasps to his breast the bleeding form of the gallant young 
Rapparee to all appearance dead. By the time he laid his 
sorrowful burden on the sward beside the altar, the gay green 
jacket, ever worn so jauntily, was wet with the life-blood from 
the faithful heart, yet the youth opened his eyes for a moment, 
and smiled as he saw Shamus. He murmured faintly : 

“ Aileen has got the ring, Shamus ! — the Lady Judith will 
find it — next the heart — that loved you best — she will tell you 
_all ” 

“Judith is here,” said a soft voice close at hand. “ But, mer- 
ciful God ! Angus — Aileen, my child ! is it you 1 Oh, woe ! woe ! 
was it for this you left me I” 

“ What else would take me — dearest lady !— but to watch — 
over Shamus % I know it was wrong — to leave my post — ask 
the general’s pardon for me — he’ll not refuse it to y(nt. Shamus ! 
poor Shamus ! don’t look so wild — be pacified — I couldn’t live 


404 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


forever, and what death could be more welcome to me Uian 
this? We’ll meet again — maybe soon — I’d wish to see Phelim 
— but there’s no time — bid him farewell for me, and tell him I 
have done my share — in revenging — Island Magee! Pray — 
pray for poor Aileen — Lord Jesus ! have mercy — mercy I Mary, 
Mother of Christians ! — help me now — now ” 

“ Aileen ! Aileen 1” shouted Shamus, and he snatched the 
dying girLto his breast again — “ Aileen ! sure it isn’t dying you’d 
be? — sure you wouldn’t leave me after all this?” A bright 
smile beamed again on the pallid face, and there it rested — 
Aileen was with the dead ! 

It was hard to convince Shamus that all was over, but when 
once he was convinced, he sprang to his feet, and imprinting a 
long kiss on the pale lips of his betrothed, he placed her gently 
in the arms of Emmeline who sat weeping by whilst Judith 
knelt to offer up a prayer for the departed spirit. 

“ I’ll leave her here,” said he, “ for a start till I go back to 
my work. My work! ha! ha! ha! ay! my work! We must 
make an end of it this day, anyhow ! Oh ! ladies ! dear ladies ! 
look at her — wasn’t she the beauty! But oh! oh! the trick 
she played on me ! And she telling me that time when Phelim 
and me went to see her that I was never, never to go back 
next or nigh her — either me or Phelim — till the war would be 
over and the country free, and the Scotch murderers clean 
gone! — oh Aileen! Aileen! But what am I standing here for 
when there’s such good work to be done ? Now God direct me 
to Sir Phelim!” 

Away he darted with the speed of a lap-wing, nor stopped till 
he made his way again to the side of his chief, thanking God 
that he, at least, was still spared. 

Just then old Lorcan Maguire was carried by bleeding pro- 
fusely from a wound in the chest. Tlie brave old man was near 
his last, yet he caught Sir Phelim’s eye for a moment, and he 
smiled a grim smile. 

“I’m done for, Phelim!” he hoarsely articulated, “but so is 
he too ! The villain that swore Connor’s life away ! I swore to 
do it this day, and I’ve kept my word ! God have mercy on 
my soul !” The seer of Fermanagh spoke never more. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


405 


It was true enough foi Lorcan. Blayney was found amongst 
the slain. His fall struck terror into the hearts of the Scotch, 
but their misfortunes were not at the height. All that dreadful 
evening the work of death went on— the fanatics falling every- 
where like grass beneath the scythe of the mower. Many hun- 
dreds had already perished, when the Rapparees, breaking from 
the bushes and thickets around, rushed into the contest fresh 
and vigorous with the terrible cry : 

“ Island Magee — Death to the bloody Scots !” 

Like a fiery torrent on they passed, young Donogh at their 
head looking like one of the athletes of old, his slight figure 
dilated, it would seem, beyond its wonted proportions, his arm 
endowed with giant strength by the mightiness of his wrongs, 
though he knew not then that the last of his race had fallen 
beneath a Scottish axe but a little while before. 

It was the day of awful retribution: The opportunity so long 
promised to the outraged clans of Ulster, and good use they 
made of it. The might of the oppressor was withered as grass, 
and the stoutest soldiers of the Covenant went down before the 
fiery clansmen of the north, and the legions of the tyrant were 
swept away like dry stubble in the fiame, until the terrified- sur- 
vivors, as evening drew on, finding no other retre;it. open to 
them, began to precipitate themselves into the river, whore 
many hundreds perished.* Monroe did not wait to see the cud 
of it. He made his escape from that scene of carnage long be- 
fore the set of sun, nor drew bridle, as was afterwards found, 
till he gained the protecting walls of Lisnagarvey— a feat quite 
in keeping with the man’s character. 

The strangest thing of all was that but seventy of the Irish 
were slain in that battle, whilst two thousand three hundred of 
the enemy were found dead on the field, exclusive of those who 
found a grave in the Blackwater. 

* Protestant and Catholic historians all agree that the Battle of 
Benburb was one of the most tremendous victories ever gained by 
Irish valor. The admirable prudence and military skill displayed 
by Owen O’Neill are loudly extolled even by such writers as War- 
ner, W right, Leland, &c. 


406 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Of the chiefs and gentlemen of Ulster, not one fell that day 
save Lorcan Maguire. Some were wounded but not dangerously. 
AVhen the drums sounded the recall, and all came together at 
the foot of the altar, by the light of the rising moon, how warm- 
ly did each press the other’s hand, how fervently thank God. 
Bishop McMahon and the priests intoned a solemn thanksgiving, 
and recited the De Profundis for those who had fallen. Then 
Owen Roe demanded of his officers what prisoners they had 
taken, and first of all addressed Sir Phelim. 

“ Prisoners !” said the stalwart knight disdainfully, “ prisoners, 
Owen ! by my word, I have not one — my object was_ to kill 
what I could !” 

“ I have a prisoner !” said Donogh coming forward with a 
bob-wig on the end of his pike, and a war-cloak carelessly over 
his arm ; “ Monroe left us these as love-tokens.” 

A roar of laughter greeted the trophies, indicative, as they 
were, of the haste wherewith the owner had decamped. But 
the wig and cloak were not the only trophies of the victory. 
All the baggage, artillery, and ' ammunition of the Scotch was 
taken, and, likewise, all their banners. These, with twenty-one 
officers, remained in the hands of the Irish, and it is graphically 
said by some of our historians that so great was the amount of 
booty taken, that “ even the meanest soldier was weary with 
plunder.” Other matters connected with this splendid victory 
will be found in our next chapter. 





THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


407 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

** Hide not thy tears ; weep boldly — and be proud 
To give the flowing virtue manly way ; 

’Tis nature’s mark to know an honest heart by, 

Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt 
In soft adoption of another’s sorrotv !” 

Aaron Hill. 

“ When love’s well-timed, ’tis not a fault to love : 

V The strong, the brave, the virtuou.'i, and the wise, 

Sink in the soft captivity together.” 

Addison’s Cato. 

The bonfire that blazed that night on the hill of Benburb sent 
a thrill of delight through the heart of old Ulster, Its meaning 
wafs well understood, for in rapid succession every mountain-top 
sent up its pillar of fire shaming the brightness of the summer 
moon. The joyous acclamations of the multitudes reached not 
the ears of the victorious chieftains by the Blackwater, but they 
watched, nevertheless, with swelling hearts, the beacon-fires 
that were proclaiming to a grateful people the news of their 
triumph. They knew that prayers were going up for them from 
ten thousand happy hearts, and that hi Is and vales were ringing 
with the joyful sounds : 

“ Owen Roe has beaten the Scotch !” 

Oh ! it was a joyous night, a glorious night for the Catholic 
people of Ulster ; and they basked in the brightness of the mo- 
ment without thinking of the clouds that might yet darken the 
horizon. Owen Roe himself as he stood witli Bishop McMahon, 
Sir Phelim and others of the chiefs, looking abroad over the 
rejoicing land, could not help catching tlie enthusiasm of all 
around, and his bosom throbbed with the buoyancy of early 
youth as, turning to the Bishop, he said : 

“ Truly we have cause for rejoicing — blessed be Ills name 
who hath done such great things for us ! Have I not redeemed 
my word, oh ! friends and brothers — said I not w^ell that we should 
have a day of reckoning T’ 


408 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


“ By the soul of Nial ! Owen,” said Phelim with a vigorous 
grasp of the hand, “ you have made clean work of it ! A few 
such days as this would leave Ireland in our own hands mayhap 
for ever ! If that rascally crew in the Pale above would only 
put their shoulders to the wheel as we do, we would soon send 
the robbers packing — that is, if any were left to pack !” 

“ I hope McMahon and O’Rourke are pleased now,” said 
Oweu again, as he turned to the chieftains named, “ and my 
young friend Roderick — but where is Roderick I — I trust no 
harm hath come unto him !” 

* Not so, general,” said Bishop Ileber, “ not so — thank God ! 
the young chief is well in body, but grievously troubled in mind 
for the loss of his good old uncle ” 

“ What ! is Lorcan slain P* 

“ Ay, marry is he — methought you knew how he sought 
Blayney out and struck him down in the midst of his troopers, 
then sold his life as dearly as he could — alas ! poor Lorcan ! — 
the hero of many a field — he hath gone to the company of his 
friends ‘ the spirits !’ And my poor Malachy— ah ! Owen, my 
heart is sore for that queer, quaint, simple, and most faithful 
follower whose oddity diverted me full oft from grave and pain- 
ful thoughts ! May he rest in peace, 0 Lord.” 

“ Who else hath fallen V' said Owen with emotion. He 
started on hearing the name of Angus Bhu. So, too, did 
Phelim. 

“ Angus Dhu !” repeated Owen in a faltering voice, “ it 
cannot be — I left him on guard in the wood with a small party 
of his comrades — could he have betrayed his trust ? — no, no, I 
will not believe it !” 

“ It is true, nevertheless,” said the trembling voice of Father 
Phelimy from behind ; “ it is true, but blame not the youth till 
you have heard all !” 

“Good God! father, and how fares it with — our friends 1’* 
cried Owen in an agitated voice. 

“ They are well, I thank my God, but much occupied in 
caring the wounded.” 

“ Lead me to them, reverend father ! I pray you !” said 
Owen in a low voice, and they turned away together. No smile 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


409 


was on the face of any left beliind — not even Sir Pbelim ven- 
tured on a jest, tljou«h all knew well who were the general’s 
“friends.” The exalted character of the Lady Judith and the 
immensity of Emmeline’s sorrows placed them far beyond the 
reach of mockery or derision, and, moreover, the chieftains of 
Owen Roe’s army looked upon both as the special objects of 
their protection. 

An hour later and 

“ The mess-tents are full, and the glasses are set,” 

and the chieftains and the officers all await the coming of Owen 
Roe to commence the banquet, but Owen Roe cared little for 
festivity; he still lingered in the sylvan hospital where Judith 
and the priests were in attendance on the wounded. In many 
cases the general himself assisted the doctors to dress and bind 
up the wounds of the sufferers, and the fervent blessings which 
greeted him on every side in that abode of pain were dearer to 
his heart than the enthusiastic cheers of his army. 

It was there he found the young chieftain of Fermanagh with 
some gentlemen of his own blood, kneeling beside the corpse (*f 
poor Lorcan where it lay with a war cloak thrown over it in 
the shade of a spreading sycamore. At the opposite side was a 
slight female figure crouched on the ground, and wrapped in a 
dark mantle. It was easy to guess that this was Emmeline, 
w’hose absence from Judith’s company Owen had noticed. She 
looked up for a moment from under her hood and met the 
general’s eye. A slight flush suffused her cheek, and she 
murmured in tremulous accents : 

“ He is dead — Connor’s uncle is dead — he who was so long 
my protector and companion in danger — he was more a father 
to me than he who bore that name — he is dead, dead— and I am 
desolate !” She covered her face again. 

“ It is even so, general!” said Roderick rising from his knees ; 
“ Lorcan Maguire is no more — look there I” — and raising the 
cloak which covered the body he showed the face of the sterti 
old w'arrior, noble even in the fixed repose of death. “ Ay ! 
you may wail him, too, Owen O’Neil! for no truer heart followed 
your standard — wo! wo! for the sons of the waters! — heavy 
18 


410 


THE CONFEDERATE CUIEFTAINS. 


will their hearts be, brother of ray father ! and loud the wail of 
our women when Lorcan is borne home to them thus from this 
field of blood !” 

Owen said not a word, but he took the chieftain’s hand in 
silence, and he pressed it between his own, while the tears that 
moistened his eye-lid showed the strength of his emotion. 
Turning, he ga-zed a moment on the venerable face of the dead, 
then knelt and bowed his head on his hand, and thus remained 
for several minutes in earnest supplication for the repose of 
that guileless soul. 

• Passing on a little farther, the general found a numerous 
party of the McMahons keeping watch around the body of poor 
Malachy. It lay on the velvet sward in front of the altar which 
his hands had raised, with the cold pale moonlight streaming 
down on the stony features. Bishop Heber knelt beside the 
mortal remains of his humble friend, and the chieftain stood 
leaning against the end of the altar with folded arms and a 
moody brow looking down on the ghastly shell that had en- 
closed so pure a spirit, so loving a heart. Owen Roe knelt to 
say a short prayer for the dead, and the sight of him there 
drew tears from the eyes of Art Oge, for he thought how proud 
poor simple Malachy would be were he conscious of the honor 
done him by “ the general.” And the clansmen who sat or 
knelt in silence around, felt their bosoms glow and their hearts 
throb with, renewed affection for that chosen leader. He tar- 
ried but a 'moment amongst them, however, for his mind was 
full of troubled thought, and his heart impelled him onward to 
the place where, like a ministering angel, the lady Judith was 
bending over a wounded soldier, whose tartan pointed him out 
as a McDonnell from the Glynns. 

Owen O’Neill spoke not, but he stood a moment looking on 
the beautiful picture of Christian charity and his shadow falling 
over the wounded, and (as it appeared) dying man, Judith was 
made aware of his presence. She looked up with a sad smile, 
and said almost in a whisper : 

“^He is passing away, I fear — Father Eugene administered to 
him a little while ago. Ah ! my friend ! such is the price of 
- victory ? ’ 


THE CONFEDERATE CIIIEFTAINS. 


411 


“ God help us all, so it is !— but, Judith, can I have speech 
. of you a moment 

Onre of the doctor’s attendants came up just then, and Judith, 
giving the man in charge to him, walked on by the general’s 
side. They were still in sight of all, but not in hearing, when 
O’Neill stopped and so did the lady, and their eyes met. A 
glow was on the cheek of each, but it was the glow of enthu- 
siasm and not of passion. 

“Judith!” said Owen Roe, “are you so far content 7” 

“ How could I be otherwise 1 Heaven be praised I you have 
done marvellously well. An’ this day’s work be followed up as 
it ought to be, the Puritans will speedily betake themselves 
whence they^came, to avoid utter annihilation. Then, Owen,” — 
she stopped as if overcome by the strength of her own vivid ima- 
ginings. Her dark thoughtful eyes were suffused with tears, 
but they were tears of joy and fervent hope. 

“And then!” — O’Neill repeated in a tone of eager expect- 
ation all unusual with him. 

“ Why, need I tell you what will follow? — surely, Owen Roe 
can well picture to himself the joy, the peace, the happiness of 
a people ransomed from slavery — the glory that will shine on 
our ancient hills when the Lord of Hosts manifests His power 
on behalf of His so-long afflicted people, and the pride of the 
tyrant will be humbled — yea for ever!” — she fixed her gaze 
on the starry firmament where the queen of night was shining 
in lonely splendor, and a dreamy, yet tender look stole over, 
her noble features — “ yea for ever — for ever,” she slowly ejacu- 
lated ; “ no more such pitiful murders — ^no more such sights as 
I have seen — and this will you do, Owen O’Neill — you yourself,” 
she added with sudden animation, turning her kindling eye on 
the chieftain. “ Who but you is in all things fitted for so great 
a work !” 

“ Your commendation is sweet to mine ear,” said Owen, “ ay, 
truly, and balm to my heart — but, Judith, sister, friend, coun- 
sellor ! you have given me leave to hope that a yet closer tie 
may one day bind us to each other. When will the day come ?” 

“ When the last link is broken of Ireland’s galling chain,” 
Judith promptly replied “ when the dark valley of blood and 


412 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


death is'passed, and the halcyon settles down on the storm-tossed 
waters, — \vhen the sons and daughters of Ireland are free to 
worship God in open day without let or hindrance, then, Owen 
O’Neill ! my hand shall go with my heart to him whose plume 
waved the highest, whose arm struck the heaviest in this day’s 
fight — to him whose matchless skill and wisdom have brought 
about, under God, this glorious result — the precursor, I trust in 
Heaven’s mercy ! of yet greater things to come.” 

Owen O’Neill was no passionate lover, — neither was Judith 
O’Cahan the woman to inspire or to feel what is commonly called 
love — no, the' heart of each was engrossed by higher and holier 
aspirations than any purely selfish feeling could ever elicit — they 
were both chastened and refined by the pure flame of patriotism 
commingled with religion — yet was there in the depth of either 
heart an enthusiastic appreciation of the other, and a sympathy 
had from the first existed between them more strong and endur- 
ing than mere love could ever be. The esteem and approbation 
of Judith were amongst the strongest inducements which Owen 
had in view, as the lofty enthusiasm of her character and the 
womanly grace and delicacy of her demeanor threw a charm 
around the brief moments of their intercourse and diffused a 
halo of poetic light over the dreary toils of w’arfare. Few were 
the souls with which Owen O’Neill held communion, and of those 
few Judith O’Cahan’s was the first. The effect of such words as 
she had just spoken, then, may well be imagined. 

He took the hand which she held out to him, and held it fast, , 
and he looked long and earnestly on the faded but still beau- 
tiful face of his betrothed, and he read as in a book through 
the soft clear eyes, the loving and gentle, yet high and holy 
thoughts that were passing within. He felt that as far as 
Judith’s heart was accessible to human love it was his, and he 
asked no more. He was well content that God should hold the 
first place in the heart of that perfect creature of His hands. 

“Judith!” he said still holding her hand between his own, 

“ Judith ! I am content to wait until the work of redemption 
be accomplished — like you I feel that the present is not the 
time for selfish enjoyment — no, no, wo could not be happy 
even in each other, whilst our friends are falling around us, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


413 


martyrs to the holy cause. Go back now, beloved, to your 
thrice-blessed ministry of mercy — and I will return to the 
duties of mine office, cheered and refreshed by these few 
moments — ala.s! bow few and brief! spent in your sweet 
company.” 

♦ Yet another fond pressure of the hand, another wistful, ling- 
ering look and Owen Roe was hurrying away to see after the 
condition of his prisoners, when a low moaning struck painfully 
on his ear, and starting he said : 

“Good God, Judith! are there yet other mourners here- 
abouts 1” 

“ Truly yes, Owen ! mayhap tlie most heartstruck of all — 
an’ you heard not of this before, jirepare yourself for a pitiful 
sight !” 

“ Mother of Heaven ! my brave Donogh — and Shamus Beg * 
• — who — who is the dead 

“ The one that was known to you as Angus Dhu,” said the 
Rapparee Captain rising slowly from his half-recumbent posture. 

“ Angus Bhu !” repeated Owen in faltering accents; “ surely, 
surely. Tie is not dead— the bravest, noblest, gentlest heart” — 
he could say no more. 

“ God bless you, general !” said Donogh in a choking voice ; 
“ Angus was all you say, but he is dead for all that ” 

“ Ay, dead, dead and cold,” muttered Shamus in a dreary, 
dreamy tone, without raising his head from between his hands 
where he sat on the ground near the head of the corpse. “ And 
I’m here alive, God forgive me !” 

The body was laid on a couch of fresh green fern, and over 
it was thrown, whether by accident or design, one of the flags 
captured from the enemy, a costly piece of snow-white silk, 
emblazoned with the arms of Blayney, and tinted in many places 
with a crimson hue, suggestive of the death struggle in which 
it was lost and won. Slowly and reverently Owen Roe raised 
the covering from the hice of the corpse, but seeing it, he 
started back amazed and bewildered ! it was the face of a young 
and handsome female— it was that, too, of Angus Dhu, wanting 
the light of the dark flashing eyes, and softened into feminine 
gentleness by the smile that rested on the features. The form 


414 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


was arrayed in the ghastly habiliments of the grave, and this 
was, of itself, not the least of the marvels that struck Owen’s 
sight. 

“ Donogh ! — Lady Judith!” he exclaimed, “who is this? — 
what do I behold!” 

“You behold my sister Aileen, General!” said Donogh in 
tremulous accents; “she and I were all of om- family that 
escaped alive from Island Magee. It was Shamus there that 
saved her at- the risk of his own life (there was a promise of 
marriage between them long before), and as he and I both 
thought, we left her in a place of safety till the war would be 
over. The poor colleen made us promise at our ofF-going that 
we wouldn’t either of us go next or nigh her till the Scots were 
cut off root and branch, and the ancient faith established once 
more in Ulster. She had taken it in head, you see. General, 
to be with us herself, without our knowing it, and to do what 
she could, be it less or more, against the cursed crew that had 
shed the blood of our aged parents and all our kin.* And sure, 
sure it was little myself thought when I used to see Angus 
slashing away at the bloody Puritans, cutting them down right 
and left, that it was our light-hearted little Aileen that was in it 
all the time — Aileen that we never could get to kill a chicken— 
Aileen that wouldn’t crush a worm ” 

“You didn’t tell how she came by her death,” broke in 

* Let no reader suppose this an improbable occurrence in a time 
of such universal excitement, when all ages, and both sexes were 
drawn, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, into the vortex of stormy 
passion Grose, in the second volume of his Irish Antiquities^ re- 
lates an affecting instance of this kind which occurred in 1642, in the 
battle fought near Ballintubber, in the County Roscommon : “ It is 
recorded,” says he, “ that a young Irish gentleman behaved on this 
occasion with singular bravery ; for, after his party fled, he placed 
himself at the corner of a ditch, where he defended himself with his 
pike against five horsemen, who fired on him: a gigantic English 
soldier, getting behind him, slew him. Being stripped, and his mon- 
tero taken from his head, long tresses of flaxen hair fell down ; this 
farther exciting curiosity, it was at length discovered that this gallant 
youth was a female.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CIIIE'fTAINS. 415 

Shamus with a wild glance aronnd ; “ tell the General, can’t you! 
that the life I saved for her she gave up for me— how she came 
between me and the stroke of death — and got it herself — but 
now that you have heard so much, General !” he added, jump- 
ing suddenly to his feet, “ I mast tell you the rest — do you see 
those stains on the banner there V' pointing to the one that 
covered the body. 

“I do, Shamus!” said Owen Roe very gently; “what be 
they r' 

I’ll just tell you that,” and approaching him, he laid his 
hand on his arm and whispered in quite a confidential way, still 
pointing a-t the ghastly object, “ that’s the heart’s-blood of 
Lindsay — Lindsay, you know, that was foremost in the chase 
of Aileen and me that night — Lindsay that swore he’d have her 
in spite of hell — ho I ho ! ho ! when I had him in my power 
once before, honor and your bidding tied my hands — but I met 
him to-day, after I left Aileen here dead, and there’s no use 
saying what I did, but — but — there s the stain on the jlag he 
had in his hand — that tells the story! But oh! Aileen, 
Aileen !” — with a sudden burst of grief — “ sure that doesn’t bring 
you back to me — how can I live at all and you dead and gone 
from me ! — oh ! Blessed Virgin ! is it dreaming I am or what— 
or what 1” And with that poor Shamus sank again into the 
listless apathy of w^oe. 

“ Heaven’s mercy on her soul !” ejaculated Judith as she care- 
fully smoothed back the dark tresses which the raising of the 
strange pall had slightly ruffled on poor Aileen’s marble brow. 
“ It is long since she told me her secret, and the heroic soul 
which dwelt within that slight form w^as mayhap better known 
to me than to any other human being. Emmeline, too, was of 
lato in her confidence, and it was our privilege to prepare her 
for decent burial ere yet any of the soldiers ha I returned from 
the field.” 

“ May Heaven reward your ladyship, for we can not !” said 
Bonogh fervently ; “ the poorest of the poor are we Rapparees — 
and yet we are rich in love and gratitude, would our Lord per- 
mit us to prove it !” 

“ I doubt it not, Donogh,” said Judith kindly, “but you owe 


416 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


me nothing, I do but pay a debt of long standing — oh ! would 
that I could do a-aght for the ever-faithful Rapparees who were 
friends to us when we had no other friends !” 

Here a pressing message from Colonel O’Reilly, who had charge 
of the prisoners, called Owen Roe away, and Judith hastened to 
resume her duties in their sylvan hospital. 

During the course of that night and the following morning 
many additional prisoners were brought in, some of these had 
been found hiding in the bushes and thickets, others were caught 
when attempting to make their escape. 

A solemn scene took place on fthe day following that “ fam- 
ous victory.” The Catholics who had fallen, to the number of 
seventy, were borne to their final rest in the consecrated mould 
of Eglish. On ordinary occasions, those slain in battle are con- 
signed to the earth which their last footsteps pressed — 

“ And every turf beneath his feet 
Becomes the soldier’s sepulchre,” 

but not so after the battle of Benburb. Each, clan insisted on 
carrying its own dead to Eglish, but a few miles distant, and the 
general was not the man to offer any objection. But even 
Eglish, old and venerable and hallowed in its associations, was not 
deemed a meet resting-place for Lorcan Maguire. His honored 
remains were borne by Roderick and his clansmen home to the 
ancient burial-place of his family near the blue waters of their 
own Lough Erne. They laid the old warrior down to rest by 
the side of his fair-haired Una, 

” And the church-shadow falls o’er his place of rest 
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.”* 

Happier than his martyred nephew is ” Lorcan of the Spirits” 
ill that his body awaits the resurrection amongst the brave and 
noble of his own race. 

Not so poor Malachy na soggaHJi — not so poor Aileen Magee. 
Far from their kindred dust they were laid to rest, but not by 
stranger hands, nor yet amongst strangers. They had company 
enough on their death-march, and those they loved best bore 


* Landon’s Poem of The Soldier's Grave, 


TUB CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


417 


them to the graves prepared for them amongst the de- 
parted sons and daughters of Tyr-Owen. And the churchyard 
hell rang clear and loud that day as none ever heard it ring 
before, or perchance ever again. 

It was a solemn, yet scarcely a sorrowful sight, for even the 
crowds of country people who raised the caoine as the mighty 
funeral passed along, were heard to mingle somewhat of exulta- 
tion with the doleful strain. Why should Uiey mourn those who 
had fallen in defence of their country and their faith % — why 
should they grudge tliem the glory of the martyrs death 1 Was 
it not well for them to die as they did,‘were it only to have 
Owen Roe and Sir Phelim, and the Lord of Iveagh, and O’Reilly 
and McMahon, and those chiefs of high renown walking after 
them to the grave, and no less than a bishop blessing the clay 
that was to be their bed till the end of time 'I Truly, they were 
not to be pitied, those heroes of Benburb — 

“ Whose death-wound came amid sword and plume 
Where the banner and the ball were flj^ing.”* 

Before the army moved from Benburb a Requiem Mass was 
said at poor Malachy’s altar for the souls of those who had fallen 
in the battle, and as the joyful news of the great victory sped 
on through the country, the Atoning Sacrifice was offered up 
for them at every altar, and in the great cathedrals of the four 
provinces, their obsequies were celebrated with clouds of in- 
cense and “ pealing anthems,” and the solemn mourning of the 
church. 

The thunders of the cannon of Benburb echoed from shore to 
shore and filled the whole island, for no such victory had yet 
crowned the confederate arms. The Norman lords heard it in 
Kilkenny and it hushed their cabals awhile. It reached Castle- 
haven and Netterville in the Viceregal halls of Dublin Castle, 
and the swaggering peer was driven to his wit’s end for some 
plausible inuendo against Owen Roe O’Neill. None, however, 
could he find, for the glorious victory of the Black water was 
too stubborn a fact to be twisted one way or the other. “ There 
it was,” as Netterville observed in a disconsolate tone, “ staring 

* Landon’s Poem of The Soldier's Grave, 


418 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

you in' the face, turn which way you would. It was well to 
hear of the Scotch getting their due, but an’ it went to pamper 
the overbearing pride of the Irishry, particularly those of the 
north, he would be content to leave Monroe as be was a while 
longer.” 

Castlehaven administered a faint rebuke to this unworthy ad- 
mission, but so very faint was it that Netterville laughed and 
tossed his bead, as much as to say : “ I understand your lord- 
ship — a blind man may see how the land lies !” 

It was in “ Limerick of the Ships” that the news from Ben- 
burb reached the Nuncio. He had gone thither some weeks 
before with the chief men of the Supreme Council to superin- 
tend in person the siege of Bunratty, a strong Castle belonging 
to the Earl of Thomond. Glamorgan having failed in this im- 
portant enterprize, Muskerry had been appointed in his place, 
and the noble-hearted Italian himself accompanied the army — 
and, in fact, directed its operations. It pleased Heaven to 
prosper his efforts, and, after a vigorous siege of twelve days, the 
garrison was compelled to surrender, and one of the strongest 
places on the Shannon was in the hands of the Confederates.* 

The flush of this great victory had not yet subsided when the 
news of the still greater one of Benburb reached Limerick. It 
was Saturday afternoon, and the pious prelate was kneeling 
in prayer before an image of the Virgin Mother, when word was 
brought him that O’Neill had conquered at Benburb, and that 
whole battalions of the Puritans had been cut to pieces. 

“ Blessed be the Lord of Hosts !” said Kinuncini, bowing his 
head reverently, “ and thou, Maiy, Help of Christians ! receive 
my thanks for thy gracious aid !” 

So saying he calmly resumed his orisons, as though dismissing 
the subject from his thoughts. Some half an hour after he was 
listening, his face radiant with joy, to Father Hartigan’s vivid 
description of the battle of which he had been an eye-witness. 

“ Truly, our Ulster campaign doth begin well,” he said cheer- 
ily, after taking notes of the principal details, “ but say, good 


* Meehan’s Confederation^ p. 146. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


419 


father! how fares it with our noble friends'? — hath Owen O’Neill 
escaped unhurt, and the valorous knight, his kinsman '?’* 

“ They are well, most reverend father!’ 

“ And our right reverend brother of Clogher “?” 

“ In most excellent bodily health, and uplifted beyond mea- 
sure in spirit at the great things achieved by our northern 
army.” 

“ Went he forth to battle 1” the Nuncio asked with a smile. 

“ Sooth to say he did, and I would your^Grace had seen how 
he wielded his broad claymore that day ! — suflSce it, he fought 
at the head of the McMahons by the side of their valiant chief, 
as became a son of his princely line — that he escaped unhurt is 
little short of a miracle.” 

“ Our Lord be praised for these His signal mercies 1” said the 
Nuncio, with a fervor all his own. “How the noble heart of 
Innocent will rejoice at these tidings ! But the trophies, good ' 
father ! what said you of trophies '?” 

“ Yea, my good lord ! trophies we have in abundance. Our 
noble general, whose days may Heaven prolong ! desiring above 
all to pleasure your Grace, hath sent hither with what dispatch 
we could make, the standards captured at Benburb. They 
await your inspection.” 

The citizens of Limerick witnessed next day one of the grand- 
est scenes of that long-protracted struggle. At the close of the 
Vesper service, the trophies from Benburb were borne in solemn 
procession from the abbey church of St. Francis, where they 
had been placed on the previous day, to St. Mary’s Cathedral, 
where the Nuncio had already deposited the banners taken at 
Bunratty. Who may describe the enthusiasm of the mighty 
multitude that thronged the streets when they saw thus home 
in triumph no less than thirty-two standards bearing the arms 
of the principal Puritan generals and the most notable Scottish 
“ undertakers” of Ulster. The Chichesters, Montgomerys, and , 
Coles, the Blayneys, the Stewarts, and the Hamiltons, were all 
and each represented there by their several heraldric devices. 

And these thirty-two banners were borne by a like number of 
the Confederate Chieftains, Skerrin, Dunboyne, Louth, Howth, 
Fingal, Slaney, and Netterville, the Dillons, and the Plunkets, 


420 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


and many another magnate of the Pale, nothing loath to share 
with their brethren of the old blood the high honor purchased 
for them by the rare generalship of Owen Roe and the bravery 
of bis Celtic followers. Yet even there the difference between 
the races was plainly discernible, for the exultation visible on 
the faces of the Irish chiefs, and the joy of their hearts, mani- 
fested in the bounding lightness of their step, was too strongly 
contrasted by the clouded brows and grave demeanor of the 
Norman Confederates. It was easy to see that the former iden- 
tified themselves with the victory of Benburb, whilst the latter 
grudged the glory of it to an Irish chieftain. 

Stately and grand as became his high office, calm and col- 
lected as a Christian priest ought to be, Rinuccini walked after 
the standard-bearers, accompanied by the Archbishop of Cashel, 
with the bishops of Limerick, Clonfert, and Ardfert. Then 
came the mayor and aldermen of the city, with the multitude 
of citizens in their gala dress. At the head of the procession, 
preceding the trophies, marched the soldiers of the garrison 
with the national colors — the white and green of the Confede- 
rates waving proudly above the stately column.* 

Having reached St. Mary’s Cathedral, the procession came to 
a stand, the banners, torn and bloody as they were, were car- 
ried up the aisle to the high altar, at the foot of which they 
were laid, whilst the Nuncio, and the bishops, and all the priests, 
and the nobles of the Pale, and the Celtic chiefs, and all the 
vast assemblage of soldiers and citizens intoned together the 
hymn of thanksgiving, till crypt, and nave, and chancel echoes 
the joyous sound — 

“As thro’ the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.” 

Truly, it was a glorious, a soul-stirring scene, and no heart in 
all that countless throng felt its inspiration more vividly than 
that of the Nuncio," Rinuccini. The people’s cries of “O’Neill 
for ever !— glory to the Red Hand !” found an echo in his gene- 
rous heart. 

* When shall we see a Maclise, or a Barry, giving Ireland a fitting 
representation of such scenes as that above described 1 When shall 
the history of our country be illustrated on canvas by the genius of 
*'er sons ? 


. THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


421 


CHAPTER XXXIir. 

“ Strike— till the last arm’d foe expires ; 

Strike for your altars and your fires ; 

Strike for the green graves of your sires ; 

God, and your native land !” 

Fitz-Green IIalleck. 

“ While the tree 

Of freedom’s wither’d trunk puts forth a leaf 

Even for thy tomb a garland let it bo.” 

Byron’s Childe Harold. 

The glories of Benburb and of Limerick passed away like a 
dream. O’Neill was not suffered to follow up his victory in 
Ulster, for the Nuncio found it necessary to recall him to Leins- 
ter with his victorious army to keep Preston and the Ormond ists 
in check. The Council was bent on concluding the peace on 
Ormond’s terms, and Rinuccini was just as bent on preventing 
it for the dear sake of religion. Armed with the power of the 
Church, and strengthened by the firm adhesion of the Ulster 
general, who had given his army the distinctive title of Gatuo- 
Lic, to the great offence of Preston and the others — the Nuncio 
carried matters with a high hand. The struggle which followed 
brought out in strong relief the indomitable energy of that 
prelate, his burning zeal for religion, his uncompromising ho- 
nesty and singleness of purpose, together with a love for Ii eland 
and a devotion to the interests of her Catholic people never 
entertained by any foreigner. For three long years did this 
high-souled and generous stranger combat the narrow selfish- 
ness, the unworthy prejudices, and the cold indifference of the 
English or Ormond faction. With the clergy on his side, and 
the old Irish, and money and war-supplies in abundance, Rinuc- 
cini felt himself strong enough to set the Ormondists at defiance, 
and to threaten them with the severest penalties in case they 
dared to persist in their fatal course. Persist they did, never- 
theless, making use of every effort to thwart the Nuncio’s views 
and to advance those of Ormond, the arch-enemy of their faith. 


422 ■ 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Enraged by the undisguised favor in which the Nuncio held 
Owen Roe and the “Irishry,” Preston and. Castlehaven, and 
Mountgarret and Muskeny, cared little what measures they 
took or what party they jcrined, so that the too-formidable 
Ulster general was humbled and his power destroyed. Hotter 
and fiercer grew the contest. Ormond and his infatuated 
henchman, Father Peter Walsh, buoying up their party in the 
Council with delusive hopes of advantageous compromise, the 
while they embittered them more and more against the Nuncio, 
and O’Neill, and the old Irish. On the other hand, the Catholic 
party in the General Assembly was sustained and invigorated 
by the commanding talents and untiring zeal and lofty patriot- 
ism of Bishop French, who, through all that miserable period 
of storm and strife, and low intrigue and shameless partizanship, 
stood ever in the van of the clergy, their mouthpiece, tlieir 
standard-bearer, so to speak.* His word was law with the 
Catholic party, whilst the highest and proudest of his adversa- 
ries were compelled to yield him a measure of respect. Ormond 
and his “shadow,” Father Walsh, were especially obnoxious to 
the far-seeing, clear-headed prelate, for he saw in them the 
roots of all the evils that were coming upon the Confederates, 
and the “Marquis and his party in turn both feared and hated 
Nicholas French. 

Rinuccini, French, O’Neill ! guardian spirits of the rapidly- 
decaying Confederation! how grandly and boldly do your 
figures stand out on the dark back-ground of that stormy time, 
your genius, your faith, your lofty self-’devotion, the anchor and 
stay of the Confederacy, the beacon and example unto all. 

* Mr. McGee, in his Gallery of Irish Writers, has done ample 
justice to the character of this great man, in all respects one of the 
most illustrious prelates that ever adorned the Irish Church. “ He 
had been,” says ho, “an Ambassador to four different Courts. He 
had ruled with episcopal power in four different countries. As a 
public man and an ecclesiastic there can be no doubt of his powers, 
his address, the extent of his accomplishments, nor of the greatness 
of his labors. Ho was the leader of all work to the Catholic Confe- 
deracy. He was one of the best known Christian bishops of his 
age.” 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


423 


With three such men at their head the Catholics could not fail 
to command success had they been all of the same mind, all 
equally devoted to the cause of freedom. But Ormond and 
Father Peter had long ago undermined the union that should 
have existed, and by sowing dissensions, fomenting jealousies, 
and fanning the small flame of private piques into public confla- 
grations, had dried up the sap from the stately tree that had 
promised so fair for Ireland, till they made it a useless and 
withered thing, cumbering the ground and tottering to its fall. 

It were sad to tell how fiercely the partizans of Ormond in 
the Council resisted the noble efforts of Rinuccini and Bishop 
French. How Preston and O’Neill became open foes, and when 
sent to besiege Ormond in Dublin with two noble armies, took 
to quarrelling between themselves, and allowed the common 
enemy to escape the ruin which their joint attack would have 
been to him. That saddest of sights was seen on the Liffey’s 
banks, just when the Confederates had the capital all but sur- 
rounded, when one vigorous and simultaneous effort would have 
made them masters of the city. Failing in that, they failed in all, 
and missed an opportunity which never came again. The bond 
of union so rudely rent asunder was never again to be cemented 
— thenceforth,* “ O’Neill and the old Irish” — “ Preston and the 
pew Irish” stood as openly arrayed against each other as any 
two parties amongst the belligerents. In vain did Rinuccini 
put forth all the powers wherewith nature and religion had 
endowed him ; in vain did he exhort, entreat, menance — the 
Mountgarrets and Muskerrys, with the tribe of Plunkets and 
Butlers, were encased in triple folds of envy, self-conceit, and 
self-interest (perhaps thickest of all !), which rendered them 
proof against the Nuncio’s exertions. The peace with Ormond 
was signed on his own terms, and the affairs of the Catholics 
left once more to the king’s discretion. Seeing this the Nuncio 
had recourse to an expedient which set all Ireland in a blaze, 
lie caused the refractory members of the Council to be impris- 
oned in Kilkenny, and new members elected in their place. 
By this arrangement more of the bishops and fewer of the lay- 
men were in the Council, the generals were all brought under its 
control, and Rinuccini after a little time was placed at the head 


424 , 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


of the provisional government. It was a strange state of affairs, 
but stranger still was to come, ay ! strange beyond all belief. 
Ireland became one wide battle-field ; the distinction of parties 
was at times all but lost, so frequent were the changes and 
transitions from one side to the other amongst the great captains. 
Thus Ormond had been forced to fly from Dublin, and the city 
was left in the hands of Jones, the Parliamentarian General. 
Jones was in turn surrounded by the armies of the Confederates, 
and Owen Roe, with his army, sat down at Trim, watching 
him so closely that he dared not stir beyond the walls of the 
metropolis. 

Strnn'^pst and most unnatural of all was the truce proposed by 
IncTiiquiii ti» the Confederates — Inchiquin still reeking with the 
blood of slaughtered Catholics, abominable from his sacrile- 
gious crimes, and of all men living the most feared and hated 
by those of the old faith. This man, finding it his interest to 
unite with the king’s troops, desired a truce with the Confede- 
rates, and the Ormandists gladly embraced his ofler, with the 
avowed expectation of his alliance being profitable to their 
patron. Rinuccini declared vehemently against so unholy a 
compact, but his admonitions were disregarded and his opinions 
overruled. The chiefs of Irish blood were his sole dependence, 
and first of all Owen Roe, his faithful and devoted friend, the 
confidant cf all his projects for the good of religion, the able 
and judicious counsellor, the zealous executor of his will. Dur- 
ing all those dreary years of heart- wearing struggle and 
fierce dissension, when all within and without the Confedera- 
tion was discord, storm, and strife, Owen Roe stood firm as a 
rock by the side of his illustrious patron, his very name an 
intimidation to the internal and external enemies of the cause. 
Second to Owen Roe in command was the heroic Bishop of 
Clogher, a kindred spirit if there was one in Ireland, as far as fer- 
vent patriotism, and singleness of purpose, and devotion to the 
interests of religion went, y et not to be compared to Bishop 
French in statesmanlike qualities, for which, indeed, that pre- 
late was famous amongst the men of his time. Nevertheless, 
Ileber of Clogher was one of the firmest pillars of the Confedo- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 425 

racy, bis bold, uncompromisinor, and somewhat fiery spirit mak- 
ing him a special favorite with tho Nuncio. 

Then O’Reill v, “ the green-mantled chief of Breffhy,” McMahon 
and Maguire, O’Rourke and Magennis, and honest Phelini 
O’Neill, and, indeed, all the Ulster chiefs were true and staunch, 
full of that noble enthusiasm which fired them on the field of 
red Benburb ; opposed as ever to the selfish and traitorous prac- 
tices of the Normans, and prodigal as ever of their own blood 
where religion and love of country beckoned them on to deeds 
of daring. 

Alas! there were fearful odds against the national party. 
The Scots were rapidly recruiting their shattered strength in 
- Ulster and burning to wipe out the disgrace of Benburb. Pres- 
ton was willing to unite even with Inchiquin provided the 
alliance would enable him to crush Owen O’Neill — that chieftain 
had removed his quarters to Dunamase, and in the ancient 
Castle of the O’Moores, looking forth from their embattled rock* 
over the plains of Leix, he awaited the decision of the Council 
with regard to Inchiquin’s truce. lie was not alone in that 
eyrie-like fortress — he had Phelini and Tirlogh O’Neill, Bishop 
McMahon and Art Oge, O’Reilly, Magennis, and the brave 
young chieftain of Fermanagh. How often their hearts swelled 
as they thought of Rory, the rightful lord of that princely domain 
over which their eyes wandered, as they remembered the infant 
days of the Confederacy, and his noble enthusiasm in the cause ! 
— how bitterly they cursed the narrow prejudice of the Pale lords 
which had given to the choleric and unstable Preston the com- 
mand of that army which should have been his, and thereby 
driven him from their ranks at the first tug of war ! 

All at once came the astounding intelligence that the truce 
with Inchiquin was completed, that “ Murrogh of the Burnings’’ 

* Dunamase, the ancient ftronghoM of the O’lMores, is one of the 
most remarkable places, perhaps, in Ireland, The rock is of great 
height, and presents the appearance of an embattled fortress. Its 
top is crowned by the once proud Castle of Dunamase, where the chietis 
of Leix, the noble and chivalrous 0 More?, dwelt of old in prinoely 
state. 


42G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


was the ally of the Confederate Catholics, Murrogh still reekii>g 
with the blood of the Cashel massacre, Murrogh accursed of 
God and man on account of his sacrilegious crimes.* 

The burning indignation of the chiefs was beyond all bounds, 
and they had well nigh made up their minds to mar ch with all 
speed against the madmen who were wantonly casting from 
them the barest possibility of success. But the Nuncio— they 
must await his decision, and see what course he would have 
them take. Great Heavens ! what tremendous tidings were the 
next that came from Kilkenny. Who could have dreamed that 
even Kinuccini would have had recourse to so terrible an expe- 
dient. 

A few days after the publication of the truce the stern repre- 
sentative of Innocent X. caused to be posted on the doors of 
St. Canice’s Cathedral a sentence of excommunication against* 
all the abettors and observers of the truce, and declaring at the 
same time all towns, cities or villages wherein it was observed, 

* Some of the noblest flights of Rinuccini’s eloquence were direeted 
against this fatal truce. “ Make no truce with this man,” said the 
Nuncio, “he has three times changed sides. If the massacre at 
Cashel has left no trace on your memories, recollect that a month 
ago he pillaged the town of Garrick and slew the inhabitants, who 
were Catholics, palliating the atrocity by asserting that he could not 
restrain his soldiers. Remember, too, that he has driven the Catho- 
lic clergy out of the Cathedral of Callan, and introduced those who do 
not profess your religion. Talk not of your inability to carry war 

into his quarters Incbiquin has not more than 3,000 men in 

Munster ; they are naked and hungry, and you fear him when you 
ought to despise him. In Connaught and Ulster, the Scotch are able 
to do little more than commit robberies for their sustenance. At the 
present moment, Owen O’Neill has an army of more than 6,000 men. 
He is ready to act against Incbiquin in the South, and I will supply 
money to pay his troops, and thus rid you of these scruples with 
which the ravages of his soldiers have so long afflicted you. I ex- 
hort you to union of heart and purpose; and remember that your 
rulers of England have never treated you, Catholics, with respect, 
except when you stood in a united and formidable league.” — Rin- 
uccini’s Relatione^ pp. 312, 420. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


427 


as solemnly interdicted. Amongst the old Irish this, of course, 
put an end to the truce with Inchiquin, but the Ormondists faith- 
fully observed it, in utter disregard of the dread anathema of 
the Church, some of them even boasting that they were “ ex- 
communication proof.” Preston, however, was made to feel 
that his soldiers, at least, were not so, for immediately on the 
promulgation of the decree 2,000 of them deserted to O’NeiU’s 
army. 

At last the time came when Rinuccini had to call on Owen 
Roe and the Irish diiefs to unfurl their banners and draw their 
swords against the recreant Catholics who had already broken 
the oath of Confederation by accepting treaties and making 
various agreements with the enemy without the consent of the 
entire body. Many brilliant achievements shed lustre on the 
arms of these true sons of the Church led on by Owen Roe and 
fighting under the immediate direction of the Nuncio. At the 
pass of Ballaghmore, this great tactician defeated and foiled no 
less than five generals who had united their forces against him.* 
When any other commander of the Catholic party failed in an 
enterprize, O’Neill was called into action, and seldom indeed 
did he fail to effect his object. 

But what availed all his valor and military skill 1 what availed 
all the talents and all the energy of Rinuccini and French 1 
Preston was not ashamed to let his rancorous jealousy carry 
him so far as to form a league with Murrogh O’Brien for the 
avowed object of crushing O’Neill. Conspiracy, dark and dire, 
was at work. Plots were even formed amongst the quondam 
Confederates and their new allies against the very life of the 
Nuncio, whom they branded as the disturber of the peace, the 
arch-agitator whose influence alone kept the old Irish from ac- 
cepting peace on Ormond’s terms, and turning their arms with 
him against the king’s enemies. Even some of the bishops were 
w'on over to oppose the Nuncio’s policy, on the plea of condemn- 
^ ing “ the censures.” That fatal measure, however necessary it 
might have appeared to a man of Rinuccini’s temperament so 
situated, was eventually the cause of yet more fearful dissensions 


* Meehan’s Confederation, p. 223. 


428 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


in the Confederate camp, seeing that it divided the clergy into 
two distinct parties. Things came at last to such a pass that the 
bishops on either sivle were, of necessity, escorted to and from 
Kilkenny by detachments from their respective armies. Yet 
still Rinuccini kept his ground, and by his side Nicholas French 
— they did not quite despair so long as Owen Roe had an army 
in the field, and together they toiled, struggling against all odds, 
exhorting, persuading, anathematizing when all else failed. In 
vain, in vain, “ the national spirit only survived in the hearts of 
O’Neill and the clergy,”* and the chiefs of the old blood, for 
they alone were willing to sacrifice all for the cause now rapidly 
becoming hopeless. 

At the storming of the Castle of Druraruisk on the Connaught 
boundary, the Irish army sustained a heavy loss in the brave 
and chivalrous Roderick Maguire, who fell at the head of his 
regiment — meet death for the brother of Connor Maguire, the 
nephew of gallant old Lorcan — that fiery young chieftain w'ho, 
in the first outbreak of the rebellion, had inflicted such severe 
chastisement on the robber-planters of Fermanagh ! He fell, 
like his martyred brother, in the flower of his years, his death 
no less heroic than that of Connor. The chieftains by whoso 
side he had so often fought-, and the general whose fortunes ho 
had so faithfully followed, mourned him, as well they might. 
Could any amongst them have looked but one short year into 
the future they wmuld have envied the fate of their gallant friend. 
As it was they only saw in his premature death the loss of one 
of their truest hearts and strongest arms — one of the first of tho 
Confederate Chieftains, one of whom it might truly be said, from 
the dawn of the Confederacy, that 

“ Never then, nor thence, till now, hsith falsehood or disgrace 
Been seen to soil Maguire's plume, or mantle on his face.* 

Another laurel lor “ the sons of the waters,” but, alas ! too 
dearly purchased. 

Would that pen of mine could do justice to the memory of 
those w’ho upheld the banner of faith and nationality through 


* Meehan’s Confederation, 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


429 


the disastrous times which followed, under the leadership of 
that holy and zealous prelate who had adopted the cause of 
poor Ireland as his own, and loved her patriotic and faithful 
sons with all the capacity of his great heart. But my tale has 
already far exceeded the bounds which I had prescribed for it, 
and I must draw a veil, however reluctantly, over that most 
eventful period. 

In 1648 the final peace was concluded which virtually dis- 
solved the Confederation. The false-hearted Norman peers who 
had come so reluctantly into the Union were the ultimate ruin 
of the cause. In order to leave their great patron, Ormond, at 
liberty to carry out his own plans, they accepted the bare tol- 
eration which he chose to give them, instead of the complete 
restoration of their faith to its ancient independence, according 
to the just demands of Rinuccini and Owen Roe, the clergy, and 
the chiefs of the old blood. For ever execrated be the memory 
of those craven Catholics, unworthy the name, who threw the 
game into the hands of the enemy, and bartered away the rights 
of their country and religion for less than “ the shadow of a 
shade!” 

About the same time that witnessed the final fall of the once 
l)Owerful Confederation, the truckling and hollf'\ -hearted 
Charles ended his life on the scaffold, a victim no less to his 
own want of principle and disregard of justice than the bloody 
fanaticism of his Puritan subjects. 

It was a dismal year for Ireland, the year '49. Almost at its 
opening, the old City of the Tribes witnessed a mournful scene. 
The Nuncio Rinuccini, worn out at last by the heart-wearing 
cares and troubles of his ofiice, and despairing of effecting the 
liberation of a country whose sons were so split up into factions, 
and so embittered against each other, made up his mind to 
return to Italy, at least for a time, until some favorable change 
might take place in Ireland. 

In vain did Owen Roe and the bishops who were his fiienas 
seek to dissuade him from this step, reminding him of all he had 
done for the cause, and imploring him not to give it up whilst 
success was still possible. The Nuncio shook his head with a 
melancholy smile, and pointed to his shrunken cheek and his 


430 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


hollow chest. The hint was more than sufficient for the true 
friends who surrounded Rinuccini. They knew that his health 
had been undermined by the superhuman labors of mind and 
body, which for lour long years he had unceasingly undergone, 
and worse than all, the grief of seeing his mighty efforts thrown 
away, and that Ire'land, which he hoped to leave free and pros- 
perous, in no better condition than when he landed on her shore. 

“ Ask me not to stay, kind friends !” he said mournfully, 
“ my doing so could not now benefit Ireland — if it could, there 
were no need to ask me, for the shattered remnant of my 
strength were well employed in the service of your faithful na- 
tion. But so long as you are cursed with such Catholics as 
Clanrickarde, Muskerry and Mountgarret, and that young Net- 
terville who is now Ormond’s aid-de-camp, and Castlehaven who 
doth assuredly serve that lord with more zeal than he ever 
served the Confederacy, all you or I — or any man living could 
do to recover your national and religious independence were not 
worth a feather.” 

“ What, then,” said Bishop French with some show of resent- 
ment ; “ would your Grace have us give up at once I” 

“Not so, my reverend lord,” said Rinuccini with a kindly 
smile, and turning he laid his hand on Owen Roe’s shoulder ; 
“there is hope for Ireland whilst 0 Neill lives — darkness will 
never quite overshadow the land so long as the Red Hand 
banner is afioat — when that goes down, the cross goes down 
with it, and the hoof of the fanatic will crush the heart of 
Ireland — oh faithful, long-enduring Ireland ! when, wffien shall 
the Sabbath of peace davrn for you 

He then turned and thanked the assembled crowd for the 
gallant stand made by the citizens of Galway against the fatal 
peace,* and as they fell on their knees with tears and sobs, he 
extended his hand and gave the apostolic benediction. 

* Galway, in common with many others of the principal cities, 
totally refused to have “the peace” proclaimed within its walla. 
“It would be idle,” says Rev. Mr. Meehan, “to imagine that this 
peace gave satisfaction to the people of Ireland. On the contrary, it 
was soon ascertained that it gave them no guarantee for those rights 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


431 


“ To you,” said he, '• people of Galway, and to all true and 
faithful Catholics in this land of Ireland. Be ye blessed for 
ever,‘^and your children throughout all time ! Were your faith- 
less nobles like unto you in devotion to the Church, my mission 
would have had a different result ” 

Turning to Owen Roe and Bishop French, he took a hand of 
each and said with much feeling : “ Beloved fellow-laborers ! 
farewell ! — blame me not if my mission hath been unsuccessful 
— you know I did all I could to free the Church of Ireland — 
you know how my best endeavors were met and thwarted at 
every move by those who had sworn to defend the ancient faith 
at all hazards nor lay down their arms till its shackles were all 
broken — you know how recreant Catholics have maligned and 
traduced me — yea, even at the Court of Rome — and that some 
amongst them have even conspired against my life — all this 
you know, noble and right trusty friends, but you do not know 
— cannot know — all the love that I cherish in my heart for you 
and yours ! My lord of Clogher, your hand ! I may never see 
the face of any one of you again, but — but — I will not forget 
you ! I will do v^hat in my power lies to advance that sacred 
cause the which I leave, for the present, in your hands ! Be 
firm and faithful as you have been, and leave the issue to 
God!” 

“ May Heaven requite your Grace an hundred-fold,” said 
Nicholas of Ferns with strong emotion, “ for all you have done 
in behalf of poor bleeding Ireland I” 

“ Say rather, my dear good brother, for what I meant to do, 
and would have done, were it not for the treachery of those 
amongst you who have made Ormond their idol. Pray Heaven 
they discover that man’s hollowness ere it be too late I” 

which aroused them to take up arms and maintain a war of so many 
years duration. It was indi^naotly rejected by the whole province 
of Ulster, the cities of Waterford, Limerick, Clonmel, and Dungarvan. 
Twenty of the great Irish families in the province of Munster signed 
a protest against it. Galway .... refused to receive it : and, 
in the province of Leinster, it was treated with contempt by all tho 
heads of the old Ixhh..''— Confederation, p. 159. 


I 


432 THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 

Rinuccii>i departed, and with him went the su.a of Ireland’s 
prosperity ; from that d-ay forth, the Ormondists had it all their 
own way, at least in three of th-e provinces ; their arms were 
devoted, as their hearts had been, to the advancement of 
liis views, and, as they fondly believed, the upholding the falling 
throne of the Stuarts. Little did they dream, until sad experi- 
ence forced conviction on them, that their patron was all along 
playing a (>ouble game — coquetting with the rebellious Parlia- 
ment, both before and after the execution of his royal master, 
the while he kept Preston, and even the astute Clanrickarde, 
and indeed the whole body of the Anglo-Irish Catholics dangling 
after him as most approved good servants of his mightiness, 
Janies Butler. It was not till he had delivered Dublin into the 
hands of the Parliamentarians, and sent his son Richard to them 
as a hostage for the fulfilment of his compact with them, that 
the duped Catholics began to see their error, and mourn when 
too late the share they had taken in breaking up that powerful 
Confederation which, had all its members been true to its prin- 
ciples, must and wmuld have prevailed. They found that even 
Ormond himself did not attach the same importance to their 
adhesion as when they foi-med a part of that magnificent body 
whose influence w'as felt in every corner of the island. Ah ! 
dismal retribution ! Mountgarret, waiting in Ormond’s ante- 
chamber, found himself only “ my Lord Mountgarret” — and the 
old man groaned in spirit as he thought of the days when, as 
President of the Supreme Council, his name and office com- 
manded respect. Muskerry, too, was doomed to realize Rin- 
uccini’s prophetic words. When, some years after, he lay 
extended on his bed of death, and the past appeared to him in 
its true colors, viewed by the ghastly light of the tomb, he said 
in a contrite spirit to those who were in attendance upon him, 
“ that the heaviest fear that possessed his soul, then going into 
eternity, was his having conflded so much in his Grace (meaning 
Ormond), who had deceived them all, and ruined his poor 
country and countrymen.’** 


* Dr. Ffench’s Unkind Deserter^ quoted by Meehan. 


. THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


433 


Well for you, Donogb McCarthy! you who might have helped 
to make Ireland . ' 

“ Great, glorious, and free” 

by joining heart and hand with the other chieftains of your own 
blood and your own faith. You chose rather to sell yourself 
body and soul to James Butler of Ormond, one of the bitterest 
enemies of Catholicity that Ireland ever produced, and so he 
treated you in the end, 0 degenerate son of the McCarthys, 
unworthy the name you bore I May Heaven forgive the share 
you had in the failure of that grand attempt to free Ireland and 
her Church from foreign thrall ! 

But in Ulster the spirit of the Confederation still lived. There 
DO slavish Norman peers threw their icy shadows athwart the 
popular enthusiasm — there the chieftains w'ere still loyally 
devoted to the cause — there the clans were burning to rush 
again on the Puritan foe who had so often quailed before them 
— there O'Rielly and McMahon, Magennis and O’Rourke of 
Leitrim, were still up and stirring, and there the Red Hand still 
waved over many a tower and town. Sir Phelim was hot as 
though no reverse had come to cool his ardor, and Owen Roe 
was as powerful to do and dare as when he swept Monroe’s 
proud army at Benburb like chaff before the wind. No, all hope 
was not lost — the Red Hand still waved on the northern 
horizon ! 

19 







434 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 




CHAPTER XXXIV. 

“ Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One ! Wail, wail ye for the dead ; 
Quench the hearth, and hold the breath — with ashes strew the head. 
How tenderly wo loved him ! How deeply we deplore ! 

Holy Saviour ! but to think we shall never see him more. 

“Sagest in the council was he, — kindest in the hall. 

Sure we never won a battle — ’twas Owen won them all. 

Had he lived — had be lived — our dear country had been free ; 

But he’s dead, but he’s dead, and ’lis slaves we’ll ever be. 

» ' « « « « « 

“ Wail, wail him through the Island ! Weep, weep for our pride . 
Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died ! 

Weep the Victor of Benburb — weep him, young man and old ; 

Weep for him, ye women—your Beautiful lies cold ! 

“ We thought you would not die — we were sure you would not go, 
And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell’s cruel blow — 

Stieep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky — 

0, why did jou leave us, Owen ? Why did you die 7 

“ Soft as woman’s was your voice, O’Neill! bright was your eye. 

0, why did you leave us, Owen 7 Why did you die 7 
Your troubles are all over, you’re at rest with God on high ; 

But we’re slaves, and we’re orphans, Owen ! — why did you die 7” 

Thomas Davis. 

Like unto these were the piteous ciies that pierced the gray 
November sky around Cloughoughter Castle* on the sixth day 
of November, of the same year of ’49. , Along the lake shore lay 
encamped the main body of O’Neill’s army, making as gallant a 
show as it did on that day three years gone by when the col- 
umns were forming on the heights of Benburb under the eye of 
its valiant chief. There was none to take pride in the marshalled 
host that day by dull Lough Oughter’s shore — mournfully 

* This Castle, now a ruin, is situate on a small islet near the shore 
of a lake in the county Cavan. The country around it is very pic- 
turesque, abounding in wood and water. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


435 


drooped the banners flapping heavily in the gray damp air — 
voiceless was pipe and drum and trumpet — nought was heard 
save the voice of human sorrow — the wail that rose from a thou- 
sand breaking hearts. 

“ Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warrior-men.”* 

And no wonder the sternest warrior there “ hid his face and 
wept,” — no wonder — it were strange if he did not, for within 
that gray old castle of the O’Reillys, there by the lake shore, 
lay the idolized leader of the Irish clans — the valiant, the wise, 
the noble, the kind — Owen Roe lay there dead — Owen Roe the 
hope of Ireland — the terror of the Puritan enemy — the greatest 
captain of his age — he who had stood like some stately column 
firm and unmoved whilst all around was desolation. He whose 
name was the watchword of Irish freedom, — whose banner was 
the beacon of his country’s hope — Owen Roe was dead. Yes ! 

“Weep for him through the Island ! weep, weep for our pride !” 

Ay ! well may ye weep, Clan-Owen ! for since Hugh was laid in 
Italian mould far away from the land he loved, no son of Nial 
has brought with him to the tomb so much glory, so much pro- 
mise, or left behind him so drear a void ! Well may ye weep, 
Clan-Owen ! this day, for he that made your name glorious is 
gone, 

“ Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When your need was the sorest !’'t- 

He that was wont to cheer you on with his beaming smile and 
his bland sweet voice, he is gone and forever — never more shall 
you hear from his lips those words that stirred you up to deeds 
of noblest daring — “ sons of my heart, advance !” Ah ! yes, sons 
of his heart you were — he breathed his spirit into you, and 
moved you at will,— but he is dead, that voice is hushed forever, 
and that arm that so often waved you on to victory is stiff" now 
and cold ! 

In the flower of his days the great chieftain died, and in the 
zenith, too, of his glory. By a signal stroke of retribution, 
even Ormond himself was compelled to mourn his death, and 


* Mrs. Hemans. 


t Sir W. Scott. 


436 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


Preston, and Castlehaven, and all those unworthy Catholics who 
had so lately conspired against his life. He died just when Crom- 
well had been sent to Ireland by the Parliament as Lord Lieu- 
tenant* — already had the torrent of blood burst forth from the 
heart of Ireland beneath that butcher’s sword — that torrent 
which was to drench the land 

“ With the mingled blood of the brave and good, of mother, and maid, 
and child.” 

The massacre of Drogheda had reached Oiven’s ears, and the 
cries of the women of Wexford — slaughtered by the tyrant’s 
orders — had penetrated to his far northern home and moved 
his chivalrous soul with pity. He had vowed to stop the mur- 
derous career of the regicide in Ireland, or he, and all who bore 
his name, should perish. Ormond, baffled at every turn, strait- 
ened in means, and seeing in the ruthless republican general a 
military genius of the highest order, before whom all obstacles 
vanished like mi t — seeing him sweeping the country like a 
furious whirlwind destroying all that dared to oppose him, 
Ormond began to look around for aid, and in all the land of 
Ireland he saw but one man whom he deemed able to cope 
with Cromwell. That man was Owen Roe O’Neill, to whom he 
sent off without delay, beseeching him to come to the rescue, 
and that all his former demands should be conceded. After hold- 
ing a council of war, Owen agreed, smiling pleasantly to him- 
self at the thought that Ormond was humbled indeed when he 
could stoop to sue so abjectly for his assistance. It was hard 
to persuade Sir Phelim to make common cause with Ormond, 
who, according to him, “ would betray his old Popish grand- 
father, Walter the Rosary, were he back again in the flesh.” 
Some of the other chiefs objected to the alliance on various 
grounds, but Owen, with his calm, clear reasoning, speedily con- 
vinced them all. 

“ I have no more faith in my lord of Ormond,” said he, “ than 
hath any one here, but in the present instance, we have the 
strongest guarantee of his sincerity, in that his interest binds 
him to us. He knows that this Cromwell is not a man to be put 

♦ Lord Ormond still holding that office for tho Royalist party. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


437 


down — hy him at least — and he knows, too, that all his courtly 
arts of intrigue would be thrown away on the stern ill-mannered 
Puritan ! Believe me, friends and brothers, Ormond is in earn- 
est now in seeking our alliance, for on it his safety depends, as 
he knoweth full well !” 

“ Well ! well ! Owen,” cried Sir Phelira, “ have it your own way 
— for a man that talks little, you talk wondrous well— my opinion 
is that you could coax the birds off the bushes had you no bet- 
ter employment for that oily tongue of yours !” 

Owen Roe smiled and laid his hand caressingly on the great 
brawny shoulder of his rough kinsman just as a keeper of an- 
imals would fondle a pet bear. “It is easy to persuade men 
like you, Phelim, to do what religion and patriotism dictate. 
You all here present have perceived at a glance that our best 
chance for eventual success is now to join with Ormond — let us 
do it, then, in God’s name, for the sake of that cause to which 
we are devoted for weal or woe. Ormond cannot impose on us 
— we know him all too well — but if by uniting our forces with 
his, we can oppose an effectual barrier to the murderous designs 
of the Parliament of Eng’and and send back its psalm-singing, 
hypocritical blood-hounds to hunt down their employers at 
home, we shall assuredly have the best of the bargain. Let us 
once get rid of this gloomy regicide Cromwell who esteems the 
'shedding of Papist blood nothing more than a godly pastime, 
and we can easily hold our own with the marquis.” 

In pursuance of this resolution, cheerfully adopted by the 
chiefs, the vanguard of the army was sent southward imme- 
diately to join Ormond and Castlehaven, whilst Owen himself 
prepared to follow with the main body. His lost charge, to 
O’Rourke who commanded the vanguard, was characteiistic : 

“ I have chosen you, Owen,” said he, “ for this post of dan- 
ger, not because you are braver, but because you are cooler 
than any of these. Were this sturdy kinsman of mine somewhat 
less fiery than he is, I would have sent him forward, but know- 
ing his hot haste when the foe is before him, and knowing, too, 
that Cromwell is the coolest and most calculating of generals, I 
feared for my brave Phelim whom we could ill afford to lose, 
and, therefore, I chose yon, Owen O'Rourke, the coolest officer 


438 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


in my army. Go forth, then, in God’s name, but I charge you, 
Owen, avoid an engagement with this formidable fanatic until 
we come together again. Keep to the passes and defiles and 
try his patience — tire winter is setting in and it will befriend us 
— by the time Oliver and his canting knaves are getting sick of 
our rain and sleet, we can come down on them all together like 
a sledge hammer.” 

What wonder was it that even the rejected Phelim, choleric 
as he was, had nothing to say in opposition to this appointment, 
whilst the other chiefs, catching up the martial fire that burned 
in their leader’s heart and sparkled in his eyes, shook off the 
supineness that bad of late been creeping over them and longed 
to meet the tyrant sword in hand. 

It was- the day before that appointed for the march of the 
army and Owen Roe stood once more with Judith O’Cahan in 
the roofless church of Dungiven by the side of a new-made grave 
— it was that of Father Phelimy who had been buried there but 
a w^eek before. At a little distance from where they stood fair 
Emmeline knelt in prayer, looking up with faith-inspired eyes at 
the cold blue heavens above the ruined altar whereon “ the 
clean oblation” of the New Law had been made of old. With 
her exception, there was no human being near, and the voice of 
the wind and the roar of the torrent made a chorus of unearthly 
music in and around the ancient church of the O’Cahans. The 
place was lonely, wild and desolate, yet there was grandeur in 
its loneliness and utter desertion, and to souls like those of Owen 
and Judith, its silence was eloquent with voices from the past. 

Having made up his mind to go south next day with the army, 
Owen had journeyed to Dungiven to say farewell to Judith, and 
on reaching the poor dwelling which she and Emmeline had of 
late shared with Father Phelimy, he found in it only the aged 
crone who had been maid of all w'ork to the comfortless house- 
hold. Then it was that Owen first heard of tlie old priest’s 
death, and was told that the ladies had just gone to vLit his 
grave “ in the church above.” 

It w'as a strange surprise when Judith raised her eyes as she 
knelt by the grave of her aged protector to see General O’Neill 
standing by her side, looking down with tearful eyes on the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


430 


brown bare heap which engrossed her own sad thoughts. Em- 
meline was there, too, but she soon wandered away to the roof- 
less chancel where we have seen her. 

“ So he is gone, too,” said Owen, pointing downwards as Ju- 
dith arose from her knees. 

“ Even so, Owen ! those we loved are dropping off in quick 
succession.” 

“ God help you, Judith ! — that noble heart of yours is sorely 
tried — may their souls all rest in peace ! I know not whether 
the news I bring will give you joy or sorrow — mayhap both.” 

“ What is it, I pray you 1 Fear not to speak — I can hear 
anything.” 

Owen then told her of his treaty with Ormond, and ended by 
saying that he came to bid her farewell. 

“ Farewell !” repeated Judith somewhat wildly ; “ fare-well ! 
it is a sad word over a new-made grave — fare-well /” she said 
again, slowly and abstractedly, “ I like not the word” — and 
she shuddered. 

“ Why, Judith,” said Owen Roe surprised and no little disap- 
pointed by her unwonted dejection; “why, Judith! an you 
speak so drearily, to whom must I go for hope, and faith, and 
fervor in the cause 

Hearing this, Judith, by a strong effort, shook off her strange 
depression, and walking away a few steps from the grave beck- 
oned Owen to follow. She then placed her hand in his, and 
said with something like her former spirit : 

“God be with you, Owen, till we meet again! May He 
strengthen your arm and nerve your soul to yet more heroic 
effoi’ts — may He bless all who will go up with you to battle 
for His name. And He will — but — but — why this is strange !” — 
she stopped as if gasping for breath, and pressed her hand on 
her bosom — “ there is something wrong here — ^here. Ah! Owen, 
there is a weight on my heart — beware of Ormond, Owen ! his 
duplicity is well nigh as dangerous as Cromwell’s sword ” 

“ With aid from above, Judith,” said O’Neill, “I fear neither 
one nor the other. Re you but of good heart and pray for our 
success — Emmeline too,” as that lady approached them, “ in 
the silence and solitude of this ruined fane, with the dead lie- 


440 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


roes of your race around you, invoke the God of battles for us. 
A fierce struggle is before us, Judith, my best beloved! — the 
might of England is now indeed to be arrayed against us, and 
Cromwell and Ireton are just the men to carry out the designs 
of the fanatics in our regard. An’ we fail now, Judith” — ho 
paused and loo'ked her steadily in the face as though to read 
the depth of her soul, if perchance any sad foreboding lurked 
there — “an.’ we fail, Judith'' — he repeated slowly. 

“An’ you fail,” said Judith with a shudder, her voice trem- 
bling with emotion, “ Heaven help the children of the Gael, for 
your past triumphs will but whet the sword of Cromwell : failure 
now were ruin I” 

“Your thought is mine,” said Owen with a bright look of 
aflectlon; “bless you, Judith, bless you! and may Mary our 
Mother shield you from harm I should we meet no more, pulse 
of my heart ! I would have you demand protection, both you and 
Emmeline, from the Marchioness of Ormond. She hath a noble 
spirit, and will compassionate your forlorn state ” 

“ Heaven bless her I I know it well,” said Emmeline, “ and 
yet metliinks I would be hard driven for shelter when I applied 
to her after my open abandonment of home and early friends. 
Rather a thousand times for me a nook in some desolate ruin 
where the short remnant of our days might be passed in peace.” 

“ And for me,” said Judith drawing herself up, “ my father’s 
daughter were brought lower than she ever will be when she 
humbled herself before Elizabeth Preston, the wife of a man 
whose intrigues have ruined our cause — or at least broken up the 
Confederation. I little expected, Owen O’Neill 1 to hear such conn 
Bel from your lips. No, if God willed that you should fall — which 
I will not, cannot, dare not think — Emmeline and myself must 
take our chance with the Catholic daughters of this land. Be 
not troubled on our account, Owen,” she added in a softened 
tone as she met his reproachful eye, “ we have a good Father to 
protect us, and a Mother, too — and you will be back to us, 
Owen I your brow 'wreathed with laurels — surely, surely you 
will! you have ever conquered — you must conquer now, for 
there is only you fit to measure swords with Cromwell, and your 
defeat by him would leave our poor country at his feet heart- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


441 


broken and helpless — oh, God ! I will not, must not think of it !” 

“ And that reminds me, dear one !” said Owen sadly, yet with 
kindling enthusiasm, “ that while I stand here forgetting all 
but the happiness of seeing you, the horrors of Drogheda or of 
Wexford may be renewed. Judith ! stay of my life ! I must say 
farewell !” ' i 

If 

He took the hand which she freely gave, but it was cold, - 
cold as ice, and her face was bloodless as that of a corpse. Her 
.eyes, too, when she raised them to Owen’s face, had a wild, 
haggard look in them which made the chieftain tremble, brave 
and fearless as he was. Twice the thin pale lips parted and 
Judith seemed about to speak, but they closed again with a 
convulsive motion, and only for the restless glance of the spirit- 
like eyes, the face would have been rigid as one of marble. 

“ Judith I” said Owen at length, “ I can stand this no longer 
—speak but a word — a word of benediction — and I am gone !” 

Slowly the pale lips opened again, and a heavy sigh came forth, 
and then whispered words that sounded like, “ Oh, my country !*’ 
and then the blood rushed to the pale cheek, and Judith beat 
down into, her heart the dark presentiment that had for a 
moment overcome her, and she said in her own clear, musical 
voice : 

“Go, then, Owen! — your suffering country calls — religion 
commands — what are Judith’s wishes, Judith’s womanish fears 1 
With the blood of heroes in my veins — ay ! even the blood of 
Cooey-nci-gaU, how can I yield to puerile weakness % Go forth 
to conquer, sword of the Gael! — lead the clans to battle as 
before, and the host of heaven will aid you !” 

“ There spoke my own chosen one,” said Owen cheerfully ; 

“ now can I set forth with a hopeful and right good heart, but 
your sadness weighed on me like lead — God in heaven be your 
safeguard till I return, and then, Judith ” 

“ Then, Owen ! if you have prevailed over Cromwell, the * 
Church will have peace and the country rest, — the hero of a ’ 
hundred fights may well look forward to the poor reward of 
Judith’s dowerless hand.” > 

“Enough! I desire no more — farewell! Judith! — if I live, 
Drogheda and Wexford shall not go unrevenged— Cromwell and 


’442 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


myself shall soon come together — the shock of our meeting 
will make the island quake, and one or the othi'r of us will be 
dashed to pieces — but for God and my right I tear not to face 
him were he an hundred king-killers ! Emmeline ! child of our 
adoption, my blessing be upon you — should the day of my hap- 
piness ever come, Judith’s home and mine shall be yours — weep 
not, fair maiden! this is no time for tears — see! Judith hath 
none to give ’ 

The words stuck in his throat, and he moved away abruptly. 
Emmeline caught his cloak and when he turned back looked 
timidly up into his face. 

“ What would you, Emmeline V' said the chief. 

“ A word — -just a word. In the storm of battle you may meet 
Sir Charles Coote — dare I ask you to spare his life should you 
have the power ” 

O’Neill frowned. “ No, Emmeline, not even to you can I 
make such a promise — it were a cruel betrayal of my own peo- 
ple to spare one of the Cootes in battle ” 

“ Oh ! say not so. General O’Neill ! say not so, I implore you ! 
—-it is for my mother’s sake not for his — bad as he is I can for- 
give him now through divine grace, but I would not ask you to 
spare the life of such as he were it not for the mother that bore 
him and me — and— and — ^his wretched soul ” 

“ Fair Mistress Emmeline ! I may never have the opportunity 
you speak of — ^but if I had — -justice would demand its victim at 
my hand. No more — ^no more — farewell! — Judith! I will live 
on the hope of our next meeting !” 

“ It will be in heaven !” said Judith half aloud, as she stood 
leaning against the dilapidated wall and watched him mounting 
his war-steed. Once again the chieftain turned, and smiled a 
fond farewell as he met Judith’s glance, then spurred his pranc- 
ing steed and cantered down the slope. ^ Did he murmur to 
himself like Roderick Dhu leaving Ellen Douglas : 

“ It is the last time — ’tis the last, that angel voice shall Roderick 
hear?” 

Not so, for no dark misgiving weighed on Owen’s heart. 
Health glowed on his cheek, life was coursing warm and ardent 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


443 


through his veins — how could he think of death being at hand 1 

‘ The sense of right and the power to smite are the spirit that 
commands.” 

Was not this spirit his 1 True, Cromwell was no ordinary- 
adversary — true, his legions were full of his own fanatical spirit, 
and every man was inflamed with his leader’s thirst for Papist 
blood — but Owen Roe was as strong, and as valiant, and as wise, 
as when he conquered at Benburb — his army was the same that 
liad swept Monroe’s battalions into the Blackwater — their hearts 
clung around him as ivy round the oak — the blessing of tho 
Pontiff was on their arms — why should he fear that ultimate, 
nay, immediate, success would crown their heroic efforts 1 

Words cannot describe the enthusiasm of that gallant army 
when Owen placed himself again at its head. What was the 
terror of Cromwell’s army to men who marched under the 
banner of Owen Roe O’Neill, that glorious banner with tho cross 
and keys interwoven with the Red Hand on its snowy surface 'i 
The more danger the more honor, and the more terrible the 
advancing foe the greater need of stopping his course. Fear 
indeed, had no place in their hearts — 

“High, high are their hopes, for their chieftain has said 
That whatever men dare they can do. 

# # » * * 

And proudly they follow that chief to the field 
Where their laurels were gather’d before.”* 

Great Heavens ! the first day’s march was not completed when 
the general was seized with a sudden and violent disease which 
rendered him unable to keep his seat on horseback.f Struck 

* Scotch ballad. 

t This sudden and fatal illness of Otven Roe at such a critical 
juncture is very generally attributed to poison— a pair of poisoned 
boots, some will have it, which caused a defluxion of blood from the 
knees. Whether it be so or not, God alone knows. It is probably 
one of those historical secrets which man can never fathom, and on 
which the shroud of mystery will for ever rest. One thing is certain, 
that it was the current belief at the time that poison had been 
administered, and various parties were suspected of the heinous 
deed. It were worse than useless now to mention these names, some 


444 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


with terror and consternation the whole army came to a stand 
—Bishop McMahon and the' chiefs would fain persuade the 
general to send forward the army and remain behind, hut of 
this Owen would not hear — whilst God spared him life he would 
go with his men — what would they do without him 1 Besides, 
his illness could not last long. 

“ Not as it is now,” said the bishop significantly to the chiefs 
who stood around in speechless terror ; “ an’ it continue so, it 
will soon end ” 

\ 

“ For the love of God, my lord, don’t say that !” whispered 
Sir Phelim in a broken voice, and stooping down he said 
anxiously : 

“ How are you now, Owen 7 ” 

“ Much the same, Phelim, much the same — I’ll he better 
soon, however — with the help of God” — then turning suddenly 
to the bishop he asked : 

“ Are they getting that litter ready for me ? I depend on 
your lordship to hurry them.” 

“ My dear son,” said the bishop, “ make your mind easy — 
better wait a day or two till you are over the worst ” 

“ My lord of Clogher,” said the chieftain raising himself on 
his elbow, how can you talk of a day or two, when there is 
question of meeting Oliver Cromwell — you know the stern ne- 
cessity that doth urge us on !” 

“ I know, my son, I know, but — but ” 

“ But what — I pray your lordship say it out — be it what it 
may— I am not the man, I thank my God, to shrink from pain 
or sickness ” 

“ Ay, but, Owen — there be worse than pain or sickness ” 

“ Humph !” said Owen contemptuously, “ you would not 
have me think that there is danger of death — I have been sick 
ere now.” 

“ Not with such sickness as this. Owen, Owen, be persuaded 
— let the army march on with McMahon, and O’Kielly, and Sir 
Phelim, if you will — let all go, but myself ” 

of them still holding h'gh position in Ireland. It is also certain, 
that the voioe of tradition invariably ascribes this disastrous event to 
poison. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


445 


“ And wherefore you, my lord V' 

“ I — I — am a skilful nurse, Owen, and, moreover, somewhat 
of a leech ” 

Owen smiled and muttered strangely to himself, then suddenly 
starting with renewed animation, gave positive orders for the 
litter to be made ready, alleging that he felt much better even 
as it was, and to move again at the head of his army would 
speedily restore him to health. 

His wishes were obeyed, and Owen Roe was carried to the 
front amid the deafening cheers of his faithful followers. On 
one side of the litter rode the bishop and Sir Phelim, on the 
other, McMahon and O’Rielly, while Sir Con Magennis and 
O’Rourke of Breffny followed close behind. Oh ! how fervent 
were the prayers put up by each in his own heart for the pre- 
servation of that precious life, so all-important in that hour! 
The fear that was gathering in raven darkness over them all, 
no one dared to communicate— they even shrank from meeting 
each other’s eyes, but rode on silently, wrapt in gloomy thought. 
And still the general’s voice was heard at intervals urging his 
officers to speed the army on. Nevertheless, his sufferings 
increased to such a degree in consequence of the motion of the 
litter, that he was obliged to give in at last. 

“ I can go no farther,” said he ; “ God’s will be done !” 

It so happened that they were then within sight of the gray 
waters of Lough Oughter, where O’Reilly’s old Castle looked 
down in sullen grandeur on the wintry flood. On being told of 
this, Owen Roe smiled sadly. 

“ Here, then, will I rest- Beneath the roof-tree of O’Reilly, 
I can lay down my head in peace.” 

At his own urgent request, the last Sacraments were admin- 
istered without delay. 

“ Lose not a moment, my dear lord !” he said to the bishop 
in a failing voice ; “ that is the only affair that imports me now 
—my heart is breaking for the woes of Ireland, but I cannot 
serve her now — my own soul — eternity — death — judgment- 
haste, my lord ! lest I go forth unshriven on my long journey !” 

With a heavy heart Bishop McMahon set about his doleful 
task, and when all his spiritual wants were supplied, the chief- 


44G 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


t-ain rallied for a* sliort time. He conversed calmly with’ his 
friends on the affairs of the country, advised them as to the 
prosecution of the war, and charged Sir Phelim to keep the 
Red Hand afloat as long as there was the slightest possibility of 
success. 

“ Now, Phelim,” said he with startling energy, “ may I depend 
on you 'I So long as the Red Hand of Tyr-Owen is up, the 
clans of the north w’ill rally around it — you know that, son of 
tho Hy-Nial — there is but you now to keep the old flag unfurled 
— will you do it, Phelim ! for God and our bleeding country ? — 
will you fight manfully to the last, nor give in while a chance of 
success l emains I” 

‘'I will, Owen — brother of my heart, I will!” said poor 
Piielim, bursting into tears like a very child. “ So help me 
God, 1 will ! The Red Hand shall never be furled whilst I live, 
unless our lawful demands are conceded.” 

“ It is well, Phelim ! give me your hand on that !” Sir Phelim 
did, but at the touch of Owen’s hand his giief burst forth anew, 
for it was already clammy and cold. 

“ Oh ! the villains ! the cowardly, black-hearted villains !” cried 
the knight waxing furious at the thought of what had caused 
this so dire calamity ; “ they couldn’t conquer you by fair means, 
so they must needs ” 

“ Don’t say it, Phelim !” said tho dying chieftain ; “ it mat- 
ters little how my death comelh, so long as it is come. We 
have no certainty touching the poison, and it is a fearful crime 
wherewith to brand any man — yet it is none too black for my 
enemies,” he said musingly ; “ it may well be so — but even an' 
it were, chieftains of the Gael ! I charge ye let the matter 
rest. We have no proof, I say again, as to who is the culprit — 
if one there' be — as my God shall judge me, then, I desire to die 
in peace with all men, in that I bear no ill-will to any for this 
thing, or, indeed, for any other matter of a personal nature. I 
fought while I was able, and w'ould fight again, for the sacred 
rights of my country and religion — and my heavy grief is now 
that I die when my services are most needed — but private malice 
bear I none, for which blessing I thank my God.” 

Some of the chiefs conversing together in low whispers, the 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


447 


name of Preston caught Owen’s ear, whereupon he turned his 
head quickly-and said with surprising energy : 

“ Who talks of Preston Be his name unnamed here ! He 
hatli much to answer for in regard to our common cause — he 
hath done Ormond's work not ours — so have all the Norman 
lords and gentlemen — all — all — may God forgive them is my 
dying prayer — but let no man name Thomas Preston in connec- 
tion with my death — name no names, once more I tell you ! I 
would speak with Donogh the Rapparee, in private.” 

What passed between the two, the chiefs could but guess, but 
Donogh remained by the bed-side until the last struggle was 
over. The brave fellow was so overcome with sorrow that he only 
roused himself from his stupor when Owen spoke to him, as he 
often did, and then he bent over him to catch the faintly breathed 
words of love and pity to be wafted to Judith when he was no 
more. “ My peerless love — spouse I noay well call her — the 
lone mourner in far Dungiven — the winter-winds sighed when I 
bade her farewell, and there W’as death between us, Donogh ! 
She felt it, though I did not. Tell her I blessed her witli my 
dying breath — and mind, Donogh, charge her by the love I bore 
her to leave this land at once with Emmeline — the money I 
gave you will suffice to take them to France or Spain — tell her 
there is a fearful time coming — she must go hence, Donogh ! 
and you must go to watch over her — for my sake you will — I 
know you will !” 

The loud wailing of the soldiers without breaking sud- 
denly on his ea", Owen started from a heavy trance-like slumber, 
and a groan of anguish burst from his heart. “ My brave 
fellows !” he murmured, “ Heaven help you all this day ! Never 
again will Owen Roe lead you on to victory ! Well may ye 
weep, for I loved ye well — proud I was of you — and good reason 
I had.” 

Calling to him Bishop McMahon he then begged him to give 
his blessing to all his soldiers and his thanks for their faithful 

service he also charged them to follow the standard of Sir 

Phelim O’Neill, on whom the chief command devolved. 

Having taken leave of the sorrowing friends who surrounded 
his bed, and of all the officers of his army, Owen closed his eyes 


448 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


in what seemed at first the sleep of death. But just as the 
bishop was about to commence the prayers for the dying, his 
lips were seen to move, and like low, faint music words came 
forth : 

“ Benburb ! — Rinuccini ! — Romo !— Ireland ! — I could do no 
more. Sweet Jesus ! mercy ! — Mary ! receive thy child ” 

A shudder, a long heavy sigh, and the noblest of Ireland’s 
sons had ceased to breathe — the Fabius of his country — the 
sword of the Gael — Owen Roe wars dead. 

Weep, Ireland, weep ! — your hero, your pride is gone, and 
ages may roll away before you look upon his like again. The 
greatest, the bravest, the wisest of your Confedekatb Chief- 
tains lies stark and cold in that desolate castle on Lough 
Oughter’s shore ! 




TUB CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


449 


CONCLUSION. 


“ ’Tis come— their hour of martyrdom 
In Iran’s sacred cause is come ; 

And though their life hath pass’d away 
Like lightning on a stormy day, 

Yet shall their death-hour leave a track 
Of glory, permanent and bright, 

To which the brave of after-times, 

The suflF’ring brave shall long look back 
With proud regret, and % its light 
Watch thro’ the hours of slavery’s nigh 
For vengeance on th’ oppressor’s crimes.” 

Moore’s Lalla Rookh. 

• Yes, so it was! whilst the banners he had so gloriously won 
at Benburb were waving in triumph in an old fane of the Eter- 
nal City,* Owen Roe was stricken down, 

“ And he died at Lough Oughter upon St. Leonard’s Day.” 

“He died, and took with him to his grave the lingering hopes of 
Irish independence.” He died and left Ireland in her greatest 
need, with Cromwell and his Ironsidesf already sweeping the 
land like the red thunderbolt charged with death. 

Of the noble northern army, some few officers joined Ormond 
with the men under their command, chiefly because it had been 
the last move of Owen Roe to eflect a junction with that “slip- 
pery politician some other battalions broke up or scattered 
away over the country in search of homes, but the greater por- 
tion kept together under the command of Sir Phelim 0 Neill. 
Most of the veterans who had shared Owen Roe’s victorious 

* Rinuccini had sent the banners to Rome where they were received 
with great rejoicing, and the Holy Father himself assisted at the Te 
Deum sung in honor of the victory of Benburb. 

t By this characteristic name Oliver was wont to address bis sol- 
diers. 


450 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


career, an'i the Kinel-Owen to a man, still gathered around their 
ancient standard, and to do Sir Phelim justice, he bore it 
bravely and steadily as became the head of the Hy-Nial race. 
For three long years did he keep that flag afloat, his chance of 
success diminishing month by month and year by year, manoeuv- 
ring so as to elude the Puritans where their strength was far 
beyond his own, and giving them battle where there was even 
a chance of success. He had learned a lesson from his illus*- 
trious kinsman, and displayed during that trying and perilous 
time a coolness and tact little to be expected from his natural 
character. During those three years of bloody and unequal 
contest, when the clans of Ulster were struggling, not alone for 
freedom, but for life itself, some feats of chivalric bravery were 
performed not unworthy of the heroes of ancient stor3\ On 
the hill of Tullymangan, in their own border-country, the sons 
of Breffny-O'Reilly met and defeated the iron warriors of 
Cromwell, reviving for a moment the fading memory of Benburb, 
and adding another bright name to the records of Irish valor. 
In the south and west, the native tribes everywhere made a gal- 
lant resistance to the terrible power of Cromwell. In some 
places they refused to receive assistance from Lord Ormond, 
preferring rather to take their chance in opposing the Puritans 
single-handed rather than have any connection with a man 
whom they knew to be at heart their bitter enemy. This was 
especially the case in Waterford, Limerick, and Clonmel. The 
former city was besieged by Cromwell himself, but the heroic gar- 
rison, commanded by General Parrel, defended the town with such 
determined bravery that the tyrant was forced to retreat with 
loss, leaving to the citizens that proud motto which has ever 
since graced their arms : Urbs Intacta — the Unconquered City. 
Clonmel was defended with equal success by some flfteen hun- 
dred Ulstermen under Hugh O’Neill,* a nephew of Owen Roe, 
who had come over from the Continent a short time before. 
The brief career of this gallant young officer, during the bloody 

* This defence of Clonmel by Hugh O’Neill is equal to anything of 
the kind on record. It form?, indeed, one of the most memorable 
events of the eleven years’ war. 


TUE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


45] 


days of Cromwell, form another glorious page in the Annals of 
the princely O’Neills, and it must have gladdened the stout 
heart of Sir Phelim to find his own efforts in the north so nobly 
seconded by another champion of the Red Hand. 

These were truly “ the days that tried men’s souls.” Limerick, 
like Clonmel and Waterford, would have baffled the efforts of 
Cromwell, for Hugh O’Neill was within its walls, and the towns- 
men fought like heroes, but treachery undid their work. A cer- 
tain Colonel Fennel was there, who betrayed the city to Ireton. 
It is true the plague was raging within the walls, but more fatal 
was the treachery of Fennel,* He had twice before betrayed the 
Catholic party, viz., at Killaloe and at Youghal, but Ireton, to 
his honor be it said, gave the traitor his deserts. “ It is satisfac- 
tory to know,” says a Protestant historian, “ that of the 24 per- 
sons excepted from pardon, by way of example, upon this occa- 
sion, one of the first led out to execution was this infamous 
traitor.”f But alas ! from the same gibbet hung the heroic Bi- 
shop of Emly, Terence Albert O’Brien, executed for his noble 
defence of the city in conjunction with Hugh O’Neill. Forever 
memorable is the prediction made by this venerable soldier of 
Christ when, Ireton having passed sentence of death upon him, 
he summoned that ruthless tyrant to meet him at the bar of di- 
vine justice in the space of three days. The haughty Puritan 
laughed his words to scorn, but he found them true to his cost, 
for the plague that was decimating the citizens, laid hold on his 
iron frame, and he was dead at the time specified by the mar- 
tyred prelate. 

In those days, too, died Heber McMahon, the illustrious Bishop 
of Clogher, the friend of Owen Roe and Rinuccini, and Nicholas 
French. His end was the same as that of the two prelates just 
mentioned. After maintaining, in conjunction with Sir Phelim 
O’Neill, the struggle for freedom in Ulster, until every hope of 
success had well nigh vanished, displaying in his military career 

* It soeras very probable that this unprincipled wretch was the 
very same Colonel Fennel who was branded by Owen Roe as “the 
cowardly cock with the feather.” 

t Smith’s Ireland^ Vol. 11., p. 62. 


452 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


SO many noble qualities and varied abilities as to command ibe 
respect of all parties,* he was captured by a. certain Major King 
of Coote’s division, and hanged by order of that savage general, 
the worthy son of his father ! The patriot prelate had been de- 
feated in a bloody engagement but the day .previous, the victoiy 
being entirely owing to the enemy’s superior cavalry. When 
attacked he had with him only a small party of horse — “ he de- 
fended himself with, heroic bravery,” says a Protestant writer 
of our owm day, “ and it was not till after he was disabled by 
numerous wounds that he was taken prisoner.” f Yet they 
hung that heroic bishop, that great and gifted man ! 

Oh ! the nobleness of such a life, and the glory of such an 
end ! If the Maguires have their Connor and their Roderick to 
boast of well may the McMahons exult in the name of Hebee ! 
Malachy O’Kelly, Terence Albert 0 Brien, Boetius McEgan and 
Heber McMahon, illustrious martyrs to Ireland’s faith and Ire- 
land’s freedom, the world has never seen men of greater worth, 
or of loftier souls, or more fervid zeal for the faith of Christ ! 
An Archbishop and three bishops martyred for justice’ sake! 
Oh ! Church of Ireland ! venerable Mother of Saints ! for thee 
they suffered, fought and died ! may thy children never forget 
the honor due to their thrice-hallowed names ! 

Meanwhile, Preston and Castlehavenj: had betaken them- 
selves beyond seas — the latter, indeed, long before the death of 
Owen Roe, and was doing amateur fighting in France during 
the war of the League, whilst the priests and prelates of Ireland 
were in battle-harness for the faith. Mountgarret, old and 
broken in spirit, died a contrite and humble man in one of his 
own castles near Kilkenny, and those who visit the Cathedral 
of St. Canice may see in the nave thereof a stately monument 

* He discharged his new functions with vigor and skill, against the 
Parliamentary troops, which he contrived to annoy in every quarter 
of the Province, by skirmishing parties of all dimensions.— Wills’ 
Illustrious and Distinguished Irishmen, Vol. IV., p. 183. 

+ Ibid. 

$ “Since the rebellion of 1641,” says he in his Memoirs, “ I had 
nothing but war and trouble, until the peace of 1646. Then I went 
for France.” Oh ! chivalrous and patriotic Castlehaven ! 


r 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


453 


to tlie memory of Richard, third Viscount Mountgarret, ohit 
A, D. 1651. In the south transept of that same venerable edi- 
fice there is another tomb far more interesting to the Catholic 
or the patriot. It is that of David Rothe, the learned, and zeal- 
ous, and patriotic Bishop of Ossory in the stormy days of the 
Confederation — the aged prelate whom we have seen sharing so 
largely in the toils and cares, and also in the glories of that 
legislative body which for a brief space — alas! too brief! — 
swayed the destinies of Ireland. Norman by blood, he was Irish 
in heart, and labored with all the might that was in him to effect 
the liberation of his native land, and the restoration of her 
ancient worship. Peace be with thee, David Rothe! simple 
guileless soul, patriarch of the Confederation ! may thy glory in 
heaven be commensurate with thy good deeds 1 
All this time Ormond had been intriguing with one party and 
another in the vain hope of recovering that power which had 
passed from his hand for ever. When all else failed him, the 
baffled politician was fain to have recourse to the prelates of the 
national parly, that is to say, those who had been the supporters 
of RInuccini and of Owen Roe. But they knew him too well 
to trust him then with the bitter experience of a ten years’ 
fruitless struggle weighing on their minds. The Catholic pre 
lates of Ireland could only see in Ormond the main cause of 
the ruin which had come upon their noble Confederation, and 
they knew it was his pressing necessities which induced him to 
make any advances to them. They saw in him the founder 
and protector of Protestant ascendancy,* the man who had 
never conceded any measure of justice to Catholics when he 
had the power, and the man, too, whose insidious counsels had, 
in all probability, kept up the breach between the ill-fated sov- 
ereign who trusted him so blindly, and the Catholic subjects 
who would have been his most faithful and devoted adherents. 
The prelates rejected with scorn the overtures of the once-pow- 

* The Irish fabric of Protestant ascendancy in Church, State, and 
property, was thus mainly raised by James Butler, twelfth Earl, and 
first Duke of Ormond— a fatal labor preceded by one civil war, and 
followed by another. — Smith’s Ireland, Vol. II , p. 95. 


454 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


erful dictator of Ireland, and the consequence was that, Ormond, 
having no other move to make, was forced to leave the country 
in company with Lord Inchiquin, whose troops had mutinied 
and left him without a man to command. Admirable compa- 
nionship in ignoble flight ! James Butler of Ormond, and 
Murrough O’Brien of Inchiquin ! “ So far,” says the candid 

Protestant, G. L. Smith, “ the Roman Catholic party was 
revenged, if not righted. Ormond would not yield them reli- 
gious freedom, and their prelates drove him out of the country.” 
Was ever a more signal instance of divine retribution! De- 
feated as they were, and by his machinations, the hierarchy 
of Ireland had still power enough to drive their arch enemy 
from the land which he had ruled with all but kingly power ! 

At Ormond’s departure, he appointed Lord Clanrickarde his 
deputy, hoping thereby to conciliate the Catholics, but, alas ! 
Clanrickarde was just as much distrusted by his co-religionists as 
Ormond himself, and as he had kept coldly aloof from them 
when his aid might have perchance crowned their efforts with 
success, so now they looked on with stoical indifierence whilst 
he vainly struggled to check the power of Cromwell and the 
Puritans. Sir Phelim O'Neill, however, was at last induced to 
join him with what forces he had yet at his command, but their 
joint efforts were of no avail. On and on swept the destroying 
host, laying waste all the land, and sparing neither man, woman 
nor child in its fanatical fury. The new Lord Lieutenant and 
his ally were driven back, back into the far north, still fighting 
against tearful odds ; they succeeded in taking Ballyshannon 
and Donegal, but lost both again, and were at last surrounded 
on all sides. Lord Clanrickarde was so fortunate as to effect his 
escape, but Sir Phelim was captured and taken in chains to 
Dublin on account of the reward offered for his apprehension. 

The last scene in Sir Phelim’s life was as noble as any we 
have witnessed during the whole of that long-protracted strug- 
gle. His capture was justly considered as a death-blow to the 
national cause, and although he had the semblance of a trial, 
his condemnation was more from his well-known character as a 
Catholic leader than any evidence brought against him. There 
was a distinctive feature in his case, nevertheless, which some- 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


455 


what delayed the execution of his sentence. The horror where- 
with the execution of Charles the First was regarded by all 
Europe, and even by the greater part of the English realm, -had 
driven the regicide parliament to look around for plausible pre- 
tences to justify their crime, and finding Sir Phelim O’Neill at 
last in their clutches, they remembered the royal commission 
which, at the first rising in Ulster, he had exhibited to his fol- 
lowers. This was ostentatiously alluded to on his trial, but to 
the surprise of all. Sir Phelim boldly declared that the so-called 
royal commission was an ingenious device of his own, and that 
his gracious majesty, Charles the First, had no more to do with 
his making war than the great Mogul or the Caliph of Bagdad. 
He was asked, how then did he come by the commission, to 
which he frankly replied that when he took the Castle of 
.Charlemont in the year of ’41, he found in an old cabinet in a 
certain room of that edifice, a patent with the broad seal of 
England appended, and immediately conceiving the idea of 
counterfeiting a royal commission, he then and there cut off the 
seal and had it transferred to a document prepared by him.* 

This statement, so humiliating and yet so praiseworthy, was 
more galling to the regicide Puritans than can well be imagined. 
Some of their most eminent officials in Ireland visited Sir Phe- 
lim in his prison, and made use of every art to induce him to 
criminate the late man, Charles Stuart. But Sir Phelim was 
firm as a rock. Truth was truth, and not to save his life would 
he, the descendant of a princely line, the champion of Catholic 
rights, prevaricate in that final hour. 

His fate wjis sealed, and he stood on the scafibld. Let the 
Protestant minister, Warner, tell of his last moments.f He is 

* It will be remembered that Sir Phelim O’Neill was a member of 
the legal profession. 

t Yet ibis same Warner, in the very same paragraph, speaks of this 
very Sir Pbelim as “ profligate to the last degree”— in God’s name, 
how could a man manifesting so much heroism, such a conscientious 
regard for truth in his last moments, be considered as “ profligate to 
the last degree 7” Truly, this is a fair specimen of Protestant logic 
as regards Catholics and their religion. 


456 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINB. 


quoting the testimony of a certain Dean Ker, no friend, surely, 
of poor Phelim O’Neill : 

“ Hoping still that they should prevail with Sir Phelim O’Neill, 
when the terrors of death were nearer, the Dean deposeth fur- 
ther, that he was present and very near Sir Phelim when he was 
upon the ladder at his execution ; and that two Marshals came 
riding to the place in great hurry, calling aloud ‘ stop a little,’ 
and having passed through the crowd, one of them whispered 
him some time, and Sir Phelim O’Neill answered him, in the 
hearing of the Dean and several hundreds round him, ‘ I thank 
the Lieutenant-General — meaning Fleetwood — for this intended 
mercy ; but I declare, good people, before God and His holy 
Angels, and all you that hear me, that I never had any commis- 
sion from the King for what I have done in levying or prosecut- 
ing this war.’ ” 

He also expressed himself truly sorry for any unnecessary 
bloodshed or outrage of any kind which, in furtherance of their 
lawful and conscientious war, his followers might have commit- 
ted, and commending his soul to God, the fatal drop was lowered 
and Stout Phelim — stout and staunch to the last, was launched 
into eternity — the martyr of truth, as he has been aptly styled. 

The death of Sir Phelim O'Neill is assuredly no less noble 
or heroic than that of Lord Maguire or Costelloe McMahon. If 
in that one instance he had swerved grievously from the path of 
rectitude, he nobly expiated his fault, a fault which was cer- 
tainly extenuated, if not justified, by the motive he had in view. 
The hatred which the Puritans bore to his name was manifested 
after his death. His head was placed over the gate at the 
Bridge-foot in Dublin,* and the four quarters of his body sent to 
various cities for similar exhibition, and the greater intimidation 
of all traitors. 

And this was the end of Sir Phelim 0’ Neill. In-fdix Felix, 
the most hated and calumniated of all the Confederate Chieftains 
— the first who raised their standard in Ulster, and the last to 
let it fall. His name and his memory should be dear to the 
Catholics of Ireland, and they, at least, should remember that 


* See Gilbert’s Fvhlin, Vol. T., p. 325. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


457 


the heroic devotion of so many years to a great cause, and the 
nobleness of his end, should efface the memory of any human 
frailties to which he was subject. He was a man of strong 
passions, and nature had cast him in a rough mould, but we 
have ample evidence in the facts already mentioned that there 
was an innate nobleness and elevation of character beneath that ^ 
ungracious exterior. ’ 

“ Why is hia name unsung, 0 ! minstrel host? 

Why do you pass his memory like a ghost? 

Why is no rose, no laurel, on his grave ? 

Was he not constant, vigilant, and brave? 

AVhy, when that hero-age you deify, 

Why do you pass ^In-fdix Felix by V 

“ He rose the first— he looms the morning star 
Of that long, glorious, unsuccessful war? 

England abhors him ! Has she not abhorr’d 
All who for Ireland ventured life or word ? 

What memory would she not have cast away 
That Ireland hugs in her heart’s heart to-day ? 

“ He rose in wrath to free his fetter’d land, , 

‘ There’s blood— there’s Saxon blood— upon his hand.* 

Ay ! so they say !— three thousand less or more. 

He sent untimely to the Stygian shore- 
They were the keepers of the prison-gate— 

He slew them, his whole race to liberate. 

“ 0 ! Clear-eyed Poets, ye who can descry, 

Thro’ vulgar heaps of dead, where heroes lie — 

Ye to whose glance the primal mist is clear — 

Behold there lies a trampled Noble here. 

Shall we not leave a mark ? shall we not do 
Justice to one so hated and so true ? 

“ If even his hand and hilt were so distain’d, 

If he was guilty, as he has been blamed, 

His death redeem’d his life— he chose to die. 

Rather than get his freedom with a lie ; 

Plant o’er his gallant heart a laurel tree, 

So may his head within the shadow be. 

“ I mourn for thee, 0, hero of the North- 
God judge thee gentler than we do on earth 1 
I mourn for thee, and for our Land, because 
She dare not own the martyrs in her cause. 

But they, ocr poets, they who justify 
They will not let thy memory rot or die.”* 


* If Ireland owed no other debt of gratitude to Thomas D’Arcy 
McGee than the above spirited stanzas, it would he no trifling one. 
20 


458 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


It was well for Rory O’More that his generous heart was 
spared the misery of those tragic scenes. He died, we are told, 
in Flanders, “ of a broken heart,” on hearing of the fatal dissen- 
sions tearing asunder the glorious Confederation which his ge- 
nius had planned.* Well for him that he lived not to witness 
the utter ruin of the cause, the bloody extinction of the nation’s 
hopes, but late so fair and rich in promise! Well for him that 
he was taken hence before the infuriate followers of Cromwell 
were left to work their will on faithful, devoted Ireland. 

A terrible picture of the bloody Cromwellian period is found 
in the truthful pages of George Lewis Smith to which I have so 
often referred : “ The cruelties of the Puritans,” says he, “ dur- 
ing their uncontrolled occupation of Ireland, are not to be 
outmatched in the long catalogue of enormities by which the 
history of Christian Europe has been blackened. Fanaticism 
never exhibited itself in a mood at once so stern and wild. 
Vindictive interpreters of the spirit of the Old Testament, they 
imbibed a blasphemous conviction that God had punished an 
idolatrous people by subjecting their lives and properties to the 
despotic authority of a ‘ purer race elect.’ As Joshua used the 
Gideonites so the Puritans scourged their Irish serfs with rods of 
iron. At least 40,000 Irishmen were transported as slaves to 
the West Indies. The peasantry were strictly forbidden to stir 
out of their respective parishes without leave ; they were not 
allowed to assemble for religious worship or any other purpose ; 
their priests were commanded to fly the country under pain of 
death ; and when it was discovered that some faithful pastors, 
unmoved by these frightful denunciations, still administered the 
consolations of religion in caverns, hid amidst the wild fastnesses 
of uncultivated mountains, or in turf-covered huts, pitched upon 


There have been few amongst us to do justice to the memory of this 
gallant but unfortunate chieftain— let us hope that after times and 
after generations of Catholics may give him credit for his unexam- 
pled devotion to the cause of his country and her ancient faith, ' '* 

* Some writers say that it was in Kilkenny Rory O’More ended his 
mortal pilgrimage, but I am rather inclined to the opinion of those 
who lay the scene of his death abroad. 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


459 


the cheerless centre of some deserted bog, bloodhonnds were 
employed to track the martyrs to their retreats, and priest- 
hunting became one of the field sports of the country,”* 

Such was the dismal condition to which the suicidal policy of 
the Norman nobles, and the bickerings and dissensions within 
the Catholic body had consigned Ireland — such the state of 
things which followed on the final overthrow of The Confeder- 
ate Chieftains! 

Those of my readers who take an interest in the fortunes of 
Judith O’Cahan and her young friend Emmeline, will be glad to 
know that they were safely conducted to Madrid by Donogh the 
Rapparee, in pursuance of the last solemn injunction of Owen 
Roe. Long before the horrors of the last tragic era had com- 
menced — before Cromwell had crimsoned one field of Ulster 
with the blood of its heroic children — whilst Phelim and Heber 
were yet masters of the north, and the Red Hand was still in 
its power, the betrothed of Owen Roe and of Connor Maguire 
were sheltered beneath the roof of a Spanish Dominican con- 
vent, where the greatness of their sorrows commanded respect, 
and won tender sympathy. There, 

“ The world forgetting, by the world forgot,” 

they spent the remaining years of their earthly sojourn in the 
practice of penance, and the soothing exercise of that devotion 
which souls purified by suflering can alone appreciate. The 
memory of the loved and lost never faded from their minds — 
identified as they were with all that was great and noble, but 
the - wild excitement of the stormy war-time gradually blended 
with the pait, and seemed through the mist of years no more 
than the troubles of a feverish dream. 

As for Donogh he was nearly alone in the world — Shamus 
Beg had fallen in the vain effort to save his chief from the hands 
of Coote’s troopers — most of his brave associates had dropped 
one after another in their ceaseless encounters with the enemy, 
but the few who remained were resolved to fight the Crom- 
wellians whilst an Irish banner was on the breeze, and Donogh, 

I 

♦ Ireland^ Historical and Statistical, Vol. IT , p. 65. 


400 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


himself of the same mind, contrived to make his way back from 
Spain just in time to see the end of it. He was slain a few 
months after the tragical end of Sir Phelim ; — whilst he and a 
few of his gallant Rapparees were conveying an aged priest 
through the fastnesses of Donegal on their way to Connaught, 
they were suddenly beset by a party of Montgomery’s horse, and 
every man of them fell fighting around the priest who was then 
hung from the crag of a neighboring rock. 

Clanrickarde reaped the reward of his worldly wisdom. On 
the restoration of the Stuarts, he retired to his English estates, 
where he spent the few remaining years of his life in what the 
world calls “ dignified retirement.” Peace, we can hardly think 
he enjoyed with the groans of Cromwell’s victims ringing in his 
ears, and the blood of thousands of martyrs weighing on his soul. 

There remains but one of the prominent characters of our 
tale to be noticed — the great, the learned, the saintly Nicholas 
French. After doing all that man could do with his voice and 
with his pen for the liberation of his country, he was destined 
to outlive nearly all the associates of his arduous toils. He had 
gone abroad before the breaking up of the Confederacy for the 
purpose of soliciting yet more liberal aid from the Catholic 
sovereigns of Europe, and he never returned, for the utter ruin 
of the cause and the bloody persecution going on in Ireland, 
made it well for him to be abroad. Yet though absent from 
Ireland his heart was there, and in the seclusion of various uni- 
versities where his fame and his learning made him an honored 
guest, he devoted his powerful pen to the service of his op- 
press-ed country. 

At the conclusion of the Life of Bishop French, in McGee’s 
Gallery of Irish Writers, we find the following beautiful and 
most vivid account of the end of that patriotic prolate : 

“ On the 23d of August, in the year of grace, 1678, the vast 
Cathedral of Ghent saw a melancholy sight. In its basilica 
was laid the corpse of a bishop. Many lights gleamed around 
— the mitre and the stalf were by his side, the shoes on his 
feet, and the purple over his cold bosom. Whoever looked 
upon that face, newly inanimate, might perceive the lines 
of thought, and the lineaments of high resolve and noblest 


THE CONFEDERATE CHIEFTAINS. 


461 


courage imprinted upon it. It was the mortal form and face 
of the great exiled Irish bishop. He had yielded up his soul 
to God, and his memory to his country. His monument and 
grave are under the roof of that sombre Cathedral. His char- 
acter and his fame are ou4’ inheritance. Let us consider how to 
appreciate their value.”* 

As for Luke Wadding there is reason to th:.nk that his heart 
was broken by the failure of the Catholic cause in his native 
land, that cause for which he had done so much and labored 
so devotedly. He died in 1657 in Rome, honored and beloved 
by the highest dignitaries of the Church, and the greatest lite- 
rati of Chat age, for Wadding was a distinguished scholar and 
an eminent writer, as well as an illustrious patriot, “ilis funeral 
was solemnly celebrated ; his grave is in St. Isidore’s, and over 
it a tomb, raised to bis memory by a noble Roman, who was 
his friend through life. ... It bears a brief inscription in 
Latin.”t 

And Rinuccini — did he forget Ireland on his return to Italy ? 
Not so — he did all that in his power lay to advance her cause, 
but he did not long suiwive the close of his Irish nunciature, 
and died. Heaven be praised ! before the dark days came again 
upon that Church of Ireland, for whose freedom he had labored 
so strenuously. It is recorded that on his return to Rome he 
caused a series of frescoes to be painted in his palace at Fermo, 
illustrating the principal battles fought in Ireland during his 
nunciature.:J: No better proof could be given of his love for that 
country than thus perpetuating on canvas the glories of Benburb, 
Bunratty (where himself had commanded), and Ballaghraore! 

Their souls are, we trust, with God, those illustrious Confede- 
rates, and their ashes spread abroad over many lands, but so 
long as the children of Ireland are true to their ancient faith, 
so long will their names be a rich inheritance, t’neir deeds and 
their virtues a glorious model for all after times ! 

* Gallery of Irish writers, p. 163. t Ibid, p. 101. 

X Meehan *'3 Cenfoderation, p. 227 


THE END. 


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